The thorn tree photograph

I keep looking at the sent message like it is a receipt for something I am not sure I bought.

The photograph of the empty tub. Empty. Eight scorpions I spent two nights finding, sorting, photographing under UV until they glowed like they were already dead and glowing was just the before. Gone. Under a thorn tree I will never find again in the dark, in a place I was not supposed to be, after a man put cash against my hip and asked me to open the cooler.

I did not open the cooler.

That is the sentence I keep running. Not I released them. The other one. The one where I stood there with my hand bleeding and my options open and I said no to money that would have covered the permit for three more trips. I keep turning it over. Was that a principle or was that just the animal part of me that does not like being held still?

Wikus shared my location. Wikus told them where to wait. And I am still angrier at the assistant for being there than I am at Wikus for putting him there. That is a problem. I know that is a problem.