Imagination March

Crows circled over head. Their cries were sharp, cutting through the already silenced lands. Caw… caw… The sun beat down through a cloudless sky on a lone figure crawling across the desert floor. Small, wasted, fragile, he clung to life. Thrust here by powers he knew naught of. This place was a place of solitude, this was a place of death. Caw… caw… the crow’s cries grew louder. Heat rose from the bronzed sand, so hot it burned the leaves from the dying trees. Tick… tick… the clocks melted on rocks misshaped by harsh winds… evaporated away with a slight hiss and a spot of steaming effort. Louder and louder the noises grew… caw… caw… tick… tick… The man threw his hands to his ears. But louder it grew yet… caw… caw… tick… tick… caw… caw… tick… tick… Louder and louder it grew, becoming as one. Caw… tick… caw… tick… They beat with rhythm now, a band marching to the tune of death… caw… tick… caw… tick… louder and louder… until… there was nothing… He opened his eyes… it was all in his head…