Let me tell you my story – how I came to be here in this lonely place. The land stretches out, so flat and yet layered with muted sunset colours and the odd brilliant flash of green. This alien beauty was what drew me here initially; but I wish I had never come. I have been here for so long that my memories are fading. That is why I must tell my story, so that I don’t forget.
We’d planned the trip for months, my friends and I. It was our first adventure as adults. We were so excited to be leaving our childhood playgrounds and experiencing something different. And it was amazing, those first few days. We watched the countryside change from its familiar deep greens and blues and golds. I had always thought our mountains were arid and stark, with their cragged orange and brown peaks and hidden cool clefts. But then I saw the stretched out vistas and the endless sky of the plains.
I think that this landscape is why I am still here. If the accident had happened earlier, before we left the Cape, I think I would have gone to my end peacefully. I cannot rest here. I miss my home with what still feels like a physical ache: the rich colours, the industry of tilled fields and the towering mountains. But what I miss most are the sounds. It is rarely still or quiet at home – there are the winds and the breezes and the gusts, so strong that you can smell the sea kilometres inland. Here, there is just silence. So I tell my story again and again to fill it, and I moan through your dwellings to recapture the sounds of my home.