Red Sand

It’s hot…really, really hot. I stagger down the middle of a sticky road with nothing but glassy mirages lining the horizon. The soles of my shoes slipping against the pavement. Feels like I’m walking on grease. I’m fat, clinically obese, trying to make my way to a gas station, or anything to find food and water. The crash left my vehicle destroyed. The eight others who were with me all perished. I am alone. Cactus to the left. Sand to the right. Nothing in between. I think I’m in Arizona.

The sun scorches my scalp with its fiery rays through locks of curly hair. My fair skin cannot hold up long under these intense rays. I’m starving. I’ve never been a person to skip meals, seconds, thirds, desert, more desert or ignore any of those late-night cravings. I should’ve taken some of those kid’s cookies with me.

Why isn’t anyone traveling this road? It’s been two days and not one car. Sure, it’s the holidays, but people still travel, don’t they? My feet drag with each heavy step. I carry a black bag containing more than just my standard lists. The contents of this bag are life. Life sounds dim right about now. I grip the bag a little tighter.

I stop and think I hear something but it was only the dust whipping through miles and miles of sandy terrain. It feels like I’m swallowing needles down this parched throat of mine. I desperately need water. What a bad time to be wearing wool.

The road twists on and on. I’m losing it. I’m losing it fast.

Before I started this death march, I ransacked everything from my vehicle: a half-empty can of warm soda, a handful of mints and some sugar cookies. The cookies lasted no more than ten minutes after the crash. Sorry, I get hungry. Sue me. The soda didn’t last long either. I grunt and squeeze the bag even tighter now.

Large black birds circle high above. I check my cell phone. I can barely read the little screen in the brightness. The dim green screen reads “NO SERVICE”. The battery’s almost dead. I wonder if I’ll outlive the phone. I never expected to die like this. Heart disease, stroke, falling off a roof, avalanche, those make sense. This doesn’t.

I smell something like rotten chicken. I take a break from walking and drop the bag to the pavement. I reach inside my pocket and roll the mints between my fingers. Better save them for later.

Last night, when I slept in the ditch on the side of the road, my hand fell upon a bird. I t was already dead. I don’t know for how long. It wasn’t completely dried out yet. I reluctantly stuffed it inside my bag. At the time, I didn’t know why I took the half-decayed bird…survival instincts I suppose.

But now I know the answer to that question as my gaze falls upon the bag. The sun beats against the black velvet, cooking my bird on the inside. I shake the mints in my pocket to make sure they’re still there and stare down the road ahead.

Its day three and the heat and hunger drive me beyond reason as I slam the bag against the concrete road. Upon opening the bag, the stench rises so thick I can barely keep from vomiting. A bloated, maggot-infested crow gazes at me with cloudy, milky eyes. I dry heave and cough, pulling a piece of ragged meat from a broken wing. I hear the tiny bones snap. A maggot is flung and lands on my cheek. If it wasn’t for the juicy fly larva, I'd never be able to choke it down.

While chewing, I hear a rumbling noise. A car? Or the grisly meat attacking my stomach. Then I see it, a semi-truck in the distance. I wipe my mouth, cough and toss the bag and what’s left of the bird carcass into the ditch. I look up to heaven and offer thanks as I pop all the mints from my pocket into my mouth. I kept these mints not for sustenance, but for insurance, if ever help did arrive. I’m expected to have sweet breath.

The green semi trimmed in blinding chrome pulls over to the side of the road and hits the brakes; shoot a cloud of dust out from underneath the fifty-foot trailer. I pat my red pants down, creating clouds of my own and prepare to greet the driver, my savior. Whoever they are, they can’t see me like this.

The solid clack of cowboy boots that only the heels of cowboys can make ring like a chorus of angels as the driver walks in my direction. The world is as if it’s in slow motion. The cacti around me now look as if they were raising their hands in praise and jubilation. The birds that were circling me have disappeared. I’m saved and break a smile with my cracked lips.

“You ok? You lost, buddy?” the truck driver tilted his head in examination.

“Yes, Tom. My vehicle broke down…a couple days ago…and I need help. Do you have any water?”

“In…in the truck.” The driver stood there as if his boots were glued to the pavement. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Please Tom, I need water.” I croak, my throat feeling as if it were lined with broken glass. “Tom, please hurry. I don’t have much time.”

I fall to the dirt, my kneecaps pop from the burden of my weight. The bright shine of the chrome gleaming off the truck blind me as I lay there.

The truck driver kneels next to me. “Are you gonna die? You can’t die! No, not you! Oh, please get up!”

Ok, he recognizes me now.

I feel him shaking me lightly. It’s like trying to wake someone from a deep sleep. My pulse is but a trickle. My eyes are barely open but I can hear the sounds of voices. I realize its Tom talking on his cell phone.

“Yes, 911? Please get out here as fast as you can! It’s Santa Clause…he’s dying!”