Another night lost in the wastes, no memories of what had brought him here this time - just the recollection that he’d been here before.
Once? Twice? It was easier to put one tired foot out in front of the other step after plodding step than it was for the man to grasp at the specters of memories floating about inside his head.
So many more pressing concerns in the now; how was he going to get out of this damned heat, what could he do to shield himself from the sun beating down on him from on high? Why he was there didn’t matter anymore. Survival was his only concern.
Staring down at the never-ending sea of sand under his bare feet, toes digging holes out of the grains and pushing himself further onward, he let his eyes stare to the point of losing focus entirely. Watching the swaying figure of a tall man, slacked shoulders that were once held up with pride, a dragging and lazy gait not entirely uncommon to those who had given up hope but weren’t content to lie down and wait for death to come and find them. His large round ears twitched at the sound of his own footfalls mind convincing him they must belong to someone else just like the shadow he was chasing. He stared and stared at his own shadow, chasing it step by step hoping that if he moved quickly enough and dove down with sufficient velocity he’d be able to recline himself underneath it and enjoy a moment’s reprieve from the oppressive gaze of the sun up above.
Prison by the wastes, he guessed. It seemed a logical conclusion, maybe a bit familiar like every dune in the distance and every other cloud in the sky sleepily staring down at him. The loss of memory might be a side effect of heatstroke. Or perhaps he’d just been sent back to his punishment for a new offense entirely.
Peeling the dripping leather vest he still had on was about as much as he could muster by way of energy now; he needed water to fuel any further aimless progression into the desert. He needed food to give him some drive to go on and hope that the night would bring relief from the heat and sleep would promise something better for tomorrow than the silent hell he was melting in now. He bent to his knees and tried to weep and beg the sky for mercy but no tears came, only a burning sensation in the corners of his eyes where tears should have been born and shed were he not already so dehydrated.
If this was a punishment it was certainly an effective one.
Hosted and narrated by:
David Someone (youtopiatron)
Started 08/15/19.
Scenes played: 1
License: Community License
