The dry dust hangs in the air outside the crumbling house. Dry skeletal trees scatter around. Rough rocks lie on the ground and stretch from the house to the far horizon. The heat waves blaze across the rough ground. The gasping wind cries, making a mournful and weary sound.
Inside the house, a table and bench, unused, gathering dust. Seated at the table, hands tightly clasped to her forehead, a figure lost within herself.
Back rigid, shrouded in black, Faith mouths a silent prayer. Fear grips her throat, a red ribbon wrapped around her neck, the only sign of colour in the brazen colourless surroundings.
From further on up the road, a lone figure, eyes squinting against the harsh glare of the sun, makes his way towards the house. The air is empty, the road is deserted and the dust is everywhere. The dusty boots kick small pebbles along as they make their way towards the old house. The silent assassin, heart black as the night, walks with deliberate steps.
Inside Faith’s mind, tucked away in a remote area, there is a clearing, sandy, quiet and cool. The clearing is calm, hiding a dream, sheltering a secret, shutting out the noise and the heat outside. At the edge of the clearing is the sea stretching out as far as the eye can see Faith, sitting in this clearing, waits. Insanely, impatiently, for the ideal world, for the light.
The assassin pushes open the door and walks in. The dry light refuses to come in through the open door. His weary boots move with measured steps closer to the seated Faith. As his hand reaches out, the air gets colder, the light steps further away from the open door.
The red ribbon, wrapped around the neck, almost strangling it, waits for deliverance. The reaching hand stops, and very deliberately, the assassin places his hand on the slender neck. Naked, cold flesh on warm, a brief contact. Then a swift slit of the knife, and the red ribbon lies in shreds on the floor.
Faith’s mind snaps awake. Her hands fly to her throat tearing at the fear that now grips her. Her numb senses jolted, she whirls around and her look collides with the cold stare of the assassin. Her brain freezes and a surge of electricity streaks through her being. Their eyes lock. The hand reaches out once again; strong fingers circle the slender throat, a slight pressure for the briefest of moments, and then the hand slowly moves up and covers her face.
A tiny leaf stirs softly within Faith’s mind, dislodging a thought, which now moves languorously, stretches, and looks out over the sea. A glow fills up the little thought, little sparkles moving around in tiny circles, growing out, rippling, building, till the resulting waves are flowing like silk over the sea. The closed eyes behind the rough hand covering her face can now see the sea begin to churn and come alive. The hidden dream springs up, wet with the sea-spray, salty, fresh, skimming the thundering waves, riding the surf. A glow emerges from the depths of the turbulent ocean, and a blinding flash of light stabs the murky evening air, washes over Faith, and tumbles out in myriad colours onto the sky above her head.