Desert

In the hours of either dusk or dawn, a man recalled watching the sun dance a solemn tribute along the horizon as a sea of glittering mirage swallowed its light.  He would rather be standing at the beach, looking across the vast ocean towards the east.  When he was a child, the sun rose from the sea and never sank into it.  Things were hopeful, young, and beautiful; with all possible worldly troubles knotted inside a tiny bag awaiting release at leisure with the wind.  This was how it was then, but the world changed so dramatically over the years, he could never return to that life without prior resentments catching up with him.

The man had come to Israel to put himself against the elements.  Now he was lost, and delirious.  Sand and dirt brushed about with a gust of wind, staining his clothes and skin in the color of the earth.  He had been walking for hours, perhaps days, he knew not which came later or before.  It mattered little, for he was alive, and the journey must continue.

The French have a saying: Cherchez la femme - Find the woman.  The root of all problems, as believed, is a woman, somewhere.  He knew many women in his life and line, all of which wove strands of hope and hate.  Enough of such heavy chains swung around his neck and shoulders to suffocate should he give in.  There were times he wished he gave in... and there were times he wished he had not.

He could still taste her perfume, the one he should not have touched.  Slowly, other sensations began to return.  He saw the color of her hair, heard her soft whispers, and felt her delicate fingers trickle across his skin.  A weak smile crept upon his façade as he remembered and his mind's eye flew to an image of the woman in familiar expression.  Her face radiated with an innocently blissful grin splashed carelessly with sparkling laughter. 

The desert was soft beneath his weight and he fell into her warm embrace.  Blinded by dust, weakened by heat, and deafened by the barren wind, the walker moved no more.  He was outside, watching his own body precariously engulfed by the shifting sands.  Her eyes came to him, their intensity, and their defeat.  She was in pain, hurt by his actions and torn apart by his words.  For years, he had been nothing but the hero, the leader, and the master of his realm; yet he was not, could not, be the respite in her storm.  Through his measures, he became her resentment, her anger, and worst of all, her fear.

She would never know that he did not die under the harsh assault of the wilderness.  His heart had stopped the hour he sent her away to a fate he knew she could not evade on her own.  The knightly protector had turned into a ruthless bane, and she had been no more than an unknowing victim.  He shall remain a coward, rather to become a lonely ghost than to confess his sins.