The StassiNet

After our ship went down, what few had survived washed up onto the shore. On one side of us was the coast. On the other were only dunes and rock formations as far as the eye could see. The sun shined mercilessly. When the waves brought us no more survivors, we started to move. It was only a matter of time before we died of thirst. To the north we would surely find our homeland, but how far? Like a mirage in the distance, I saw the shimmering of light reflecting from the south. My instincts told me that is where we must go, even though it was most likely a town belonging to our enemies. Though there was not a one of us in the group who sided with our government, there was no telling how we would be received. So we went south, our thirst overcoming our fear of uncertainty.

We hiked the dunes, the sweat dripping from our bodies and quickly evaporating, our mouths dry. We reached the outskirts, exhausted, filthy, and parched. The townspeople saw us coming and to our great surprise invited us into their city and provided for us. They treated us not as citizens of the country of their enemies, though it was apparent by our dress and the colour of our skin, but as brothers, fellow humans in need. They were able to see past outward appearances and the ideologies of our cultures and to recognise the common humanity in all of us.

(This is an excerpt from a larger story I am working on.)