There’s a small island off the west coast of India that’s said to have carmine colored tangerines. Malachi Grennich didn’t know why he had to have one, but after someone told him about them at a grime filled back alley drag show, he knew he had to go.

Malachi put his two weeks notice in at his job and left the next day. His dreams were filled with carmine as he slept walked through the three layovers, four flights, and five taxi’s he had to take to get to the island of Saraswati.

He stepped onto a dusty street surrounded by a lush jungle. He woke up from a walking dream to find a different world. The lies that spoke from the orchards before him captured fractions of a forgotten cataclysm that humans knew not the name of.

Malachi walked into the waves of citrus and disappeared from memory.

A faint star shines of carmine as it hangs overhead the lonely fields outside of Saraswati. The only reminder that the taste of curiosity cannot be sated by earthly imaginations.