Turbinio

White Vinegar

As you approached the checkpoint, you gradually recovered from mental exhaustion. Along the way, some exhausted, injured, and dehydrated runners helped distract you from bad thoughts, even as your mind continued to wander. Even before you reach your destination, your water barrel was empty.

None of the runners you helped along the way seemed popular, but a single glass of water was enough for them to bow solemnly to you. As if you were a guardian angel.

The checkpoint was a kind of city created especially for the race. You could see bars and other establishments in the distance, and you sighed with relief when you saw a hotel sign. A shower would be a good idea now, but you had no intention of staying in this place for more than a day, as you planned to leave for Monument Valley as soon as you had replenished your water supply and hopefully sold something. You were tired of the desert, and the thought that at this time of year in your homeland, you could be enjoying a cool, tropical autumn that had nothing to do with the dry, hellish air of Arizona. You tightened with nostalgia.

You watched the race officials talking at empty tables, looked for a good place to park your wagon, and went in search of information.

The employees were all a little strange. Short men who all looked alike, and none of them seemed to want to greet you, since you were nothing more than a hawker.

''Excuse me.'' You politely slipped in and smiled at the two employees. ''Do you know where I can fill up my water barrel?''

They seemed pretty pissed that you interrupted their conversation. They eyed you from head to toe. They assessed your clothes, your clay-smeared shoulders, your hair, your bare feet, and your uncovered tattoos as they looked at the flashy wagon behind you.

''This checkpoint is for runners only, no hawkers are allowed to stay here!'' Said them rudely. ''Go away before we call the police!''

You widened your eyes and stared at them for a few seconds. You couldn't leave with an empty water barrel, that would be suicide. At that moment, a few ideas came to you about what you could say. Claim to be part of the rescue team? Too risky. You could try to do something you're already very good at.

Incredulous as you were, you occasionally exploited your appearance as a forest witch to gain a little respect. For a moment you thought you were going too far, but you just laughed vaguely, corrected your posture, looking at them both without blinking.

''Fine.'' You said quietly, putting a hand in your pocket and taking a few steps forward to squeeze in between the two little men. ''Really, this place was very well designed...'' You pretend to be interested in the place, looking vaguely at an establishment in front of you. ''Have you ever heard of carpenter ants? They love this kind of wood.''

They looked at each other, confused and impatient. You give them a wicked smile and squat down in front of one of them, oblivious to the fact that you're holding a handful of ants.

''It would be a shame if there was some kind of infestation here, wouldn't it? They multiply and feed on wood so quickly that this place would be in ruins in a single day!'' You laugh playfully, stand up and get back between the two men.

Your mother had taught you to be light on your feet and nimble enough to cheat at cards, pickpocket, put coins behind ears, and even let ants loose on people's necks without them noticing. As exotic as you were, you found it easy to play on other people's beliefs. People find it easier to believe in witches than in illusionists.

You were about to climb into your wagon when you heard a high-pitched scream.

''What?! What the hell?! What did you do?! You bitch!'' One of the employees screamed as if he was dealing with a plague sent by God. He rolled on the floor and felt the horrible stings of the tiny insects on his neck.