Tayo Gurung

I twist the nozzle on the hose, and a fine spray arcs over the enclosure. The tortoises stir, their leathery necks craning toward the mist. It’s a rare moment of peace, one I’ve come to treasure. The biggest one, Old Man, moves slower than the rest, savoring the water. He’s 32, like me. We grew up together.

I was supposed to have a life like his—steady, predictable, safe. Instead, I chased something I can’t put into words. At first, it was the thrill of flying. Training in South Africa, my hands steady on the controls, the world stretching out beneath me. Then it was the buzz of a line at a party, the warmth that spread through my veins like liquid sunlight. Heroin didn’t feel like a danger back then. It felt like an escape.

I step into the shade, shaking the last drops from the hose. My daughter gurgles in my arms, her tiny fingers brushing my face. She’s only three months old, and already, she’s given me more than I’ve ever deserved. Her mother thinks I can still turn this around, but I’ve seen what this drug does. It doesn’t let go.

Life in Victoria, the capital of the Seychelles, has a way of trapping you. People love to ask why heroin is everywhere here. How can an island paradise hold so much pain? I don’t have an answer. Maybe it’s because there’s nowhere to hide when life doesn’t measure up to the postcards. Maybe it’s because the drug is cheap, and the island is small enough for everyone to know a dealer.

I tried rehab—South Africa, Italy. Each time, I’d come back clean, hopeful. And each time, the island pulled me under again. Old faces, old habits, whispers of my past. You can’t run from yourself when you’re surrounded by water.

The baby yawns, her tiny fist gripping my shirt. For her, I try. I hold her close when the withdrawal sets in, when the pain screams through my body. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

Old Man watches me from the enclosure, slow-blinking like he’s seen it all. I crouch beside him, tracing the lines on his shell. “You had the better life,” I tell him, and for a moment, I think he understands.

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Mary Smith

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Ji Min Kim