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Rated: E · Fiction · Contest Entry · #2012364
Over four hundred years she reaches for her aqua earring, it is gone
Showing her age, Aral moves her ancient right hand up and sweeps a snails-pace toward her once proud head.

Particles of minerals, skin, and microbes swirl around her, passing riches taking wind.

Ashamed at her nudity, she recalls green dresses worn each season. Aral is rattled, and would cry, but there are no more tears. Her ducts, once moist shiny emerald eyes are now cracked, lifeless shafts.

She reaches her eastern lobe, and fingers around. The jewels are gone, and now this lobe as well.

Those dam [sic] henchmen. Crowds roared behind preposterous promises of green grass.. It was lies - resources squandered.

She was stripped in seconds. For over thirteen million years, Syr Darya nourished her, but he is starved of glacier and snow, now, the one summer flood, is barely a trickle.

She maps through ages of alluvial records, and is surprised that it is so hard to remember how they used to celebrate twice a year - soaking, drinking deep. She nurtured the waters, and every living creature within her realm. They call her shallow.

One millimeter at a time, she rests her arm; what is left of it. One small finger, a bit of her elbow.Evaporation takes her.
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