Watermelon

I saw the mirage of watermelon field this morning. An edgeless field of delicious watery fruit spread over the northern desert. The image of their fat juicy body soothed my thirst.

Thieves from the southern city went to steal the melons. I passed by one who carried a huge sphere of green stripe melon. He looked proud for his accomplishment, “Look! This watermelon can feed my thirst for a week.”

“Watermelon doesn’t grow in the desert,” I told the thief.

The thief sniffed, “then what it is that I’m carrying?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It does look like watermelon but it is definitely something else.”

“Huk! No,” the thief said, “I think not. It’s a watermelon and nothing else.”

I shook my head, grabbed my camel and continue my journey.

The thief followed after me, “Look, I can prove that I’m right.”

He took out a knife from his waist and opened the watermelon to reveal the interior of tomato red. The juice overflowed and dropped into the desert sand, sad and wasteful.

I still shook my head, “But still watermelon doesn’t grow in the desert.”

He cut off a small piece and let me tasted it.

I ate it with my sand dry mouth. The fruit melt into water and drained down into my waterless throat. I shook my head again, “it taste like it, but still, fact is a fact.”

The thief cut me more and more pieces, which I ate them all and still I shook my head.

He gave up, and took away what’s left of his watermelon back to his southern home.

I continued my journey with my camel and hoped to meet another thief with another watermelon.