Siesta

From Ammani's blog

Here’s what I want from you. Your memories of summer afternoons. Be it a photo, a poem, a story or anything that to you typifies the blessed dullness of a scorching mid-day in May.


It is three o'clock and I am fourteen years old. I have just finished my lunch and it is now time for a nap. I close my bedroom door and turn the air-conditioner on to full blast. Outside the sun sears the road until it becomes a thick black river that sways under my gaze. I look in the distance and see a man on a bicycle with a stack of newspapers fastened behind his seat. He is riding on the tarmac river, swathed in its heat. I close the blinds and slip into bed. The sheets are crisp and clean and as I slide my arm into the cool white cleft under the pillow I feel a narcotic stupor overcome me. The air-conditioner purrs in the background. I pull the comforter over my head and fall asleep.