Christopher Creed

The Last Drop Christopher Creed

Publisher Marketing: Rashad and Ali are brothers from a poor family in the Gulf island state of Dubat, they first inherit the bicycle repair shop from their father who is killed when he falls asleep on a nearby beach - it's a long story... The brothers later acquire a strip of land from their terminally idle, uncle Hilaal, who is tragically killed whilst trying to cool off during a particularly ferocious heatwave. Ali, the younger of the two brothers, wants to be an airline pilot, but he has too much work keeping the family going and together to even think about any other form of career path. Rashad has learnt English by watching 1970's police series, "The Sweeney" and fancies himself as the incarnation of Inspector Jack Regan, seizing each and every opportunity to exercise his own brand of cockney rhyming slang and dubious English language skills. All is pretty much ordinary in the brothers' lives, until one day, in an uncharacteristic burst of energy, Rashad takes up the work on an abandoned water well, started by uncle Hilaal years before ... Life changes for the brothers overnight. Excerpt A group of flies bickered and buzzed around a pile of dirty, off-white rags strewn upon the dusty steps of the mud-walled house in the shade of a tattered canvas awning that cast a small pool of shade onto the steps, offering respite from the baking-hot sun. All was silent at this time of day, the only sound was that of the flies, which was suddenly interrupted by a loud breaking of wind that made the edges of the pile of rags stir as the foul-smelling wind escaped into the stiflingly still air. It became clear that the dirty pile of rags contained something that was alive as a sun-tanned arm, covered in a mantle of thick, black, wiry hair extended and scratched an itch, producing a noise between a moan of agony and a sigh of ecstasy. Rachad lazily sat up, eyes still closed, swatting the group of flies away from his large hooked nose, sinking back to a lying position, mouth open, snoring and snorting like a lovesick walrus as he sank back into a deep sleep. The flies settled back on his face, despite his grimaces and snorts. Rachad was 36 years old, although he could have easily passed for 60. His life work had always been consecrated to avoiding working, he came from a long line of lazy male layabouts, who excelled at their art and who had great skill in working their female relatives to an early grave....