Copyright PsychopeteÓ 2003
Hot, dry desert air awaited his awakening.
A fitful nights sleep and fine dust covered the small cot on which he slept.
Streams of dusted light shone faintly through the burlap curtains of this small room, abandoned within an outbuilding once housing cattle and hardware.
Feet dropped into toughened boots.
A fedora hung on a nail above the cot fell, blowing a swirl of dust and then placed on his head.
Two others were facing the sun as he entered outside.
Loading cargo and sipping from a water bag. They wiped their brow.
Another perched behind the wheel. He said nothing as he climbed into the seat and left the building behind.
Hours passed before either spoke.
The driver babbled a prayer and blessing in Spanish. With frozen features, he turned and said that he felt that this was their last journey he feared.
A temptress he felt was riding with them this day. A foreboding of fear.
The driver kissed his Madonna and asked for a blessing.
Gears groaned as the truck began to cross the river. On the far side the three stopped and rested, bathing in the coolness of the brown river separating their countries.
As they rested, the rider found that he must consider his options towards alternatives. He must make a choice.
He must decide what to do.
The sun began it's decent in yellows and gold. Light as if an omen, beckoned to the campsite with ribbons dancing on the surrounding sand.
Leaning against the side of the truck was a view of an immense space, a facade seeming so real to the world.
This dank and dark desert stretched it seemed forever, until it disappeared in the iron black of the horizon. A strange wind began to blow and chilled his sunburned skin. He though there may be a storm.
The evening became strangely dark, and with eyes of terror he lifter his head and turned. He knew that something or someone was there behind him, for he could feel its gaze pierce his head.
A burst of sand caught him squarely in the chest knocking him onto his back. Scrambling to his feet he clawed and scratched crying out to his friends.
The wind had grown to flaying sheets, hitting the vehicle, negating all other sound.
Straining each muscle, feeling each tendon pull with every ounce of strength, he drew himself up.
On his knees he reached even higher and found the top of the grill. He cried to god to give him strength enough to climb inside, to shelter, to live.
He inched his way to standing and leaning forward he tried to lay over the radiator and pull himself onto the motor. All that was left was to pull his legs on top of the engine. At that very moment the hood slammed shut, severing him.
His legs dangled for a moment from a thread of material and then broke free. Tumbling as sagebrush, his lower half disappeared into the clouds of sand.
The scene disappeared as quickly as it had come.
No wind, no blowing sand, no longer a presence.
A purple, star-studded night twinkled overhead.
