The Desert

I wake, face down in a glittering desert. The sand resembles multi-coloured glass, shimmering like a dragon fly’s wings.

The sky above is inky black, with no stars and no moon in sight.
It seems to swirl and undulate, like patterns in obsidian or liquid smoke in squid ink.

I sit up, my mouth full of sand, and my hair all over the place.
Before I can spit out the grains, they dissolve. Melt.

I have the sensation of fracturing, my consciousness splitting; like the sand below, if there was enough light to reflect through it.

I knew I had to run, to leave before the Desert Keepers arrived.

I see languages—bits of script, and of sounds.
They fill the air. Suffocating me.

They taste like smoke and silk, cotton and cold water.
They smell like heat does.

I look down, and see the sandal of a Keeper.
I turn and run.

And run.

And run.

I finally reach a cool, smooth, hard surface.
My mind tells me to lie down on it.
It’s tempting.

I find it hard to concentrate; my mind seems to splinter, multiple versions of myself coexisting.

One of them tells me to lie down and sleep—to sleep, and remain an Earther.

I feel my limbs turning into multi-coloured granules.
The sand of the Desert.

I sleep.