Death by Desert

Short Story

A man wanders in the desert. With a parched throat, cracked lips, sun-baked skin and shaking hands; he can barely stand. One step after another he struggles to reach the oasis of life. A place where water is plentiful, the shade is substantial and food is bountiful.  But every step he takes the land of life becomes just another step further away. His clothes are rags, his mind makes mistakes and the unattainable mirage becomes a reality that is always succeeding in its escape.  He always has hope because he is to afraid of his fate. His blistered shoe-less feet fight through the pain of each burning grain, not excepting defeat.  One step after another he continues to go forward, finding faith that night will come and the fiery flame in the sky will disappear for a while.  He continues with each meter feeling like a mile.  The heat from the days rays finally disappear and blood breaks through his lips as he manages a small quivering smile.  One step after another he continues to go forward. A little while later he realizes yet another mistake as the cold creeps into his skin.  His teeth begin to chatter and he begins to shake.  The extra layers of clothes he castoff was a cruelty and crime. From the oven to the freezer the man is becoming a doubtful believer. But even more of a disgrace is that he no longer sees the signs of that land that he continued to chase. He looks down, no longer strong enough to lift his own head. Witnessing a horror, he sees his own tracks leading a paved way right in front of him. Taking measure of his broken mind and the circle to nowhere that he tread all day and some of the night. He lays on the sand and rests his head on his hands.   He closes his eyes and he knows what is next. There is a foreshadowing doom that takes over before he goes to sleep. He wants a release, but he is too dehydrated to cry. The morning sun rises and he is finally at peace while the vultures circle the sky.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A terrible way to die. The heat of the desert would be a slow and very hard death. I liked the description. Make the situation feel real and true. The ending would be true. In the end. Food for the desert creatures. Thank you for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote

[HappySad]

I truly appreciate your reviews. They are an inspiration and want me to continue. Thanks again and thank you for sharing your work!

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed your work tonight and you are welcome.

[L.V. Ana]

This feels personal, a metaphor for the hopelessness of our own lives. We fight and struggle to reach the promised land, that oasis of life, but every step makes it seem further away. When it's warm, it's too hot, and we're parched. When the coolness comes, it quickly turns to freezing temperatures. In the beginning we try to maintain our naive belief that we can make it, because to think otherwise would break us...but in the end we're broken anyway, as we see the fruitless circle we've been walking, and we finally give in to the vultures.

I love the line, "He wants a release, but he is too dehydrated to cry." Even that last solace has been taken by the circumstances around him. Whether you read this as a metaphor or simply take the story at face value, it's painfully intense. You draw the reader into his mind, using enough words to really sink what you're saying in, but without using so many that it bogs the story down. The only thing I had a hard time with was the block paragraph, with nothing to break it up, but that's minor, and maybe that was an executive decision you made. Either way, very good writing.