The Desert

Yellows, browns and blues, that's all he could see.  Unfortunately, it was the wrong blue.  He hadn't had water for many days and his throat, much like the sun that was continually beating down on him, was on fire.  His dreams consisted of rivers, lakes and streams.  His thirst was so immense he felt his throat would burst.  The cacti surrounding him looked like instruments of torture.  Knowing that what he desired was encased inside was tearing him apart.  He knew that if he could break into just one of them, he would be able to go on.  Without it, he was doomed.
The endless stretch of sand began to blend before his eyes, vibrating in a haze as if he were looking through the mist above a boiling pot.  Rubbing his eyes to clear his vision, they came across something that could not be.  He knew it couldn't be real, but he couldn't help but hope.   
A clear liquid sparkled up at him from a shard of broken glass.  It was a liquor bottle smashed in half.  Still suspicious, he carefully picked it up.  It was solid; it was real.  Lifting it to his nose, he discovered it was odorless.  The last remnants of moisture that his body contained began to stream down his cheeks.  He was saved.  He put it to his lips and drank so hard he almost choked.

His body lay stretched out, unshielded from the sun and with one hand still grasping for his precious savior.  The bottle was never a bottle.  By the time he realized it was sand he had been drinking, it was too late.  His eyes gazed up, blank and glazed over.  His last tears dried up before they had time to fall.