The Rancorous Sun

A woman struggles to survive under the heat of the desert sun

The parched ground was being kissed by rain, the droplets of life-giving water, splashing generously around as though the clouds had burst their arteries in their effort to give hope to the dying ground below.  But it wasn’t just the hard stony dirt that was gasping its last breath. 

She lay sprawled out on the ground, her tattered top soaked with salty sweat, her khaki bottoms encrusted in the dust, ripped at the knees to allow some ventilation.  Her dark hair tied back in a ponytail with a red bandana covering her mouth from the earth that swirled around whenever the wind took a gleeful hold.

It had been days since she had last had water, and her body was now severely dehydrated.  The once idyllic plan of hiking seemed like a memory ensconced in long ago fog.

She started to crawl forward, her energy sapped away, her very life-force leaving her behind, perhaps gone to a more milder climate.  Who could blame it?

She sat herself up and stared at the horizon before her.  It stretched out like it was attached to the rising sun with elastic, miles of arid deserted wasteland before her.  It felt like the gloating Sun took enjoyment in tugging at the desert under her blistered feet.

Devoid of all brush and bush, nothing here grew except the desire for survival, and her long shadow as the sun climbed steadily.

The rain did nothing but antagonise and tease her mercilessly, insufficient amounts to catch in your mouth, but enough to moisten her burning cheeks and to trickle down her sweat-stained back.

She fell onto her back in exhaustion, her cracked, bloody lips quivering in pain as each salty tear danced there way over them.  She didn’t have the energy to despair or to be negative.  She merely stared ahead and waited for the time her eyes closed to the light forever.  The reapers shadow was due to fall on her, and she remained in silent agony anticipating his embrace.

Her mind had played tricks on her before with tantalisingly close mirages of deep ponds with lush grass and trees thick with leaves to shield herself from the sun.  As soon as she had lurched forward in hope, she was always left feeling gutted and angry.  Now, as she stared at the tiny rain clouds above, she could feel her body rise and start to float towards them.  The ground was no longer hard beneath her; instead, she had a pillow of the softest air, cushioning her poor painful bones.  She was gliding towards the clouds, full of water, that she would burst through them with such vigour that they would explode into a thousand droplets, showering her at once in them.  This thought alone made her fly towards them faster.  The fresh air on her burnt red peeling face, her tears no longer hurt.  She could almost touch the bright white puff of a cloud.

But there was no cloud.  There was no shower �" only tears, running down her face.

A dark shadow fell upon her, something blackened out the sun temporarily.  A hand extended towards her, and she closed her eyes in sadness. 

This was it.

“Don’t worry”, a kind voice said into her ear softly.

“We found you.  You’re safe.”

Author's Note

Part of the #BePositiveWriteNow :The First Sentence project
Be kind with these short stories - I've been given the first sentence by an instagrammer, and then I ramble on with a story from it.