Milla: An African Short Story

By K.L Bexon

His eyes glittered, full of humour. His teeth flashed as he repeated himself during the journey along the winding, rut filled track. “Last one, last one.”

  The jeep flung down the rut, and immediately up, my vision flinging with it. The game driver’s laugh was infectious; I could only imagine what my face looked like, how inexperienced. I allowed myself to be carried away by it, to fly with it through the warm air rushing past. To escape.

  Coming around the bend, pink bled into orange between the marula trees. Dawn lay sleepily along the horizon, gently filtering between branches and across the faces of the other volunteers moving around the orphan building.

  Once we stopped, I took a moment to feel the warmth on my skin. When I had fled home, I hadn’t known what I was looking for- all I had known was that I wanted to chase the sun. Now, feeling Zambia soaking into my bones, I knew why.

  Since arriving, my morning routine had been the same. I zipped my way past the wire fence of the 200-acre woodland chimp preserve and onward to the large ‘escape artists’ enclosure. The name had tickled me the moment I first saw it. It was an art to escape. I should know.

  I turned the corner; there she was, waiting for me.

  Her hand was out, long leathery fingers already gesturing for me to hurry. Air huffed between my lips as I suppressed a laugh. So demanding.

  I plopped down on the dry earth beside the fence. Rough skin grazed my cheek as her firm, but careful, hands reached to part my thick curls.

  The corners of my lips curved up as her experienced fingers did their work, parting and checking. I raised a hand, placing it on her warm arm, and I turned to share my smile with my fellow escape artist. Her deep eyes connected with mine; a world of vulnerable trust lay there.

“Thanks, Milla.”