Wednesday, August 5, 2015

desiccation

Her head felt full of garbage while she stuttered and limped down the desiccated street. Between billowing clouds of dust and the empty eyes of the dead, she could barely remember who she was.

The glaring yellow-white light didn’t help.

She could nearly recall the wet world from some time before. She could almost remember what it was not to thirst. Which was the dream? The baked and brittle hell all around her? The sickeningly fecund place of choking vines, algal mats, and perpetual rain? Had she ever known a median existence?

Surely so? Or else she would not be able to wonder after it, right?

She stood perplexed beneath the baleful force of an unrelenting sun. Grating crystals were born out of her pores; her sweat evaporated subcutaneously under the surreal heat.

Then, scathing winds tore her feet free from the ground. She crashed to the blistering concrete and lay shaking with dry, strangled sobs.

Last she could clearly remember, Sleep’s Fire burned through her veins. Perhaps this was all just a terrible dream?

She doubted it when her skin began to peel away.

There was nothing more to do so she rose and walked painfully ahead.

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