Hawa yawned as she grabbed her red plastic cup. She opened the rusting metal tap and water gushed out. She went back to her room.
Half her oranges were peeled and rested on a caramel metal tray beside the sky-blue chiffon dress on her bed. The floral pattern caught her eye in the same way it had last evening when she’d found it stranded on the beach. Yesterday had been a long day and seeing such a pretty dress was the sweet reward for enduring it. She’d found the dress snagged on the rocks that were revealed during low tide. The dress was beautiful even without being worn. She wondered to whom it had belonged before it had ended up washed up there. Probably a tourist’s child. The tight frill collar was cumbersome to get through, but beauty was pain, Hawa figured. She liked the soft white pleats that failed to fully veil her blossoming breasts. She strived to peel each orange in the same fashion, like the pleats of the dress. Thin lines streaking down, one after the other, as they swirled near the bottom. Oranges looked nice that way. It was a long process, even longer when done right.
Ally Abdallah Baharoon is an intergalactic journalist