*

Fig Moon gave way to Olive Moon, yet the heat did not feel any less intense. The sun sucked the moisture from Turgan's pores.

When he splashed water into his face to cool down, he saw that his palms had a grey tinge. A cold fist clenched in his guts. Had the time come?

It might be a trick of the light, because colours always paled at noon.

He waited until the sun stood three finger breadths above the horizon, then stepped into the shade as if to relieve himself. He studied his arms, turned them over, found what seemed to be the beginnings of grey. The grey of his feet probably came from dust, but the knees...

A whip cracked. “Back to work,” the overseer bellowed.

“Yes, sir.” If there was grey in his arms and legs, was his face turning grey as well? Just in case, he pulled the broad-brimmed straw hat deeper into his face.

He returned to the row of shadufs, found the one he was supposed to operate, and resumed work. If the greyness had started, how long before his body and mind began to decay?

If the time had come to end his existence, this might be his last day. The palm fronds waved their rich green, and the water in the buckets glistened. Cicadas rasped, birds chirped, and a child gurgled with laughter.

Life was beautiful. Every fibre of his awareness wanted to live.

He tested his body's strength once more and found it unimpaired, so there was still some time.

*

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Genre – Horror

Rating – PG-13

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