#Fiction: Marasa Dalma and Memories in the Frozen Season
I AM STILL sitting in the port of Mar Poroh that has long died. Formerly this port is very crowded visited by traders from various regions, Pedir, Marros, Madagas, Burundi and other areas in mainland europe and asia.
This winter all port activities have been moved to Albad, the new harbor that began to act a year ago. But at the port of Mar Poroh is still often we see the activity of the ships splitting oceans of the Indian Ocean. The garden benches and lamps of Mar Poroh were still on, visible there Ran Syahad still busy compiling his wares. I do not really notice how crowded people are visiting Ran Syahad's shop. All I know is that frosty winter.
Ran Syahad called me to stop by the tavern to drink and talk to him. I just gave a hint that I would catch up with it.
I was still sitting on the bench, I looked at the ocean. There are thousands of witnesses how cruel the calamity that took the life of my beloved five years ago. Marasa Dalma died roasted because of the misfortune of the ship he was on fire at midnight. Bodies floating in the sea, parents, children and women all become carcasses and can not be helped, including my beloved Marasa Dalma. He lies stiff with a very severe burn. Really I could not bear to watch that time.
By that time we have agreed that our wedding schedule is on the 17th like today. But everything ran aground, hopes and dreams crumbled without trace, while winter continued to fall like a frozen snow.
