Jordan Stewart

When they picked up the tour van at the airport in Madrid, the front bumper fell off. Jordan spun the loss as a sacrifice to aerodynamism. Ten days later, the heap collapsed in the Spanish desert. He volunteered as the group’s scout. After two hours of walking, he saw things. Mirages. He was walking toward his mom. He could see her in the distance, making him his favorite dish. “Mash potatoes.” As the horizon rose to meet him, so did his mother. “Jordan,” she called, “Get off your computer and come help me!” He started to run, scrambling to her. But, when he reached her, she disappeared. In her place was a sign that read “Peniscola - 2 kilómetros.” He shook his head and grabbed at the sign. It was real. He was only 2 kilometers away from civilization. From Peniscola.