ATHIRST

ATHIRST

It feels as if time has stood still for ages. Only a sparse heartbeat bears witness to the time passing, thumping and echoing into the void of the mind and pulsating through fingers out into the open. Slow, heavy footsteps are swallowed by the burning sands. While eyes only see the never-ending hillocks of desert. The wind chases sand grains and tousles them into the hair locks, drenched wet from the heat. The swelter scorches the skin until beads of sweat pierce its surface and the placid sands steam out lucid mirages.