solar Collision (temporary title)

The sun, as if a distraught steroid crazed pitcher pissed at his athletes foot and the situation, threw it's heat at us with no mercy. Pitching higher temperatures with each grueling throw, it's rays proceeded to pound my back like a drum. I could feel the burn seeping through my pores and boiling right down to the bone. but it wasn't just my back that was the center of this solar blitz; her face was nothing short of an over cooked lobster dry and butter-less. that's all there was sun, sand and Way Lynn. For the first time in my catastrophe of a life i can honestly i was in the middle of nowhere, no signs or human life, not even a spit or spatter of a mule. Our feet toddled, bounced and danced along the sand, leaving craters, like an arid moon, craters that would soon house numerous snakes and scorpions, sand spiders and sand worms. Packed like a subway in Boston on the fourth of July, they'll come from all corners of this parched and insipid sandbox. As a young sprout, i feared the sandbox, having dreamed of being eaten by giant sand worms and scorpions or quite possibly having watched too many B rate horror movies all seeming to revolve around sand. thus i spend my youth circumnavigating around the sandbox to the swings. But now, 27 and without hope, i find myself on the verge of drowning in sand...


"It seems like not but just two days ago, there were so many trees i almost felt sick...and now here we are in the world's classiest dust bowl! isn't it just lovely..kinda makes you wanna sing sad country tunes and bluegrass."
A cantankerous contradiction that Way Lynn. She talked more than a woodpecker drunk on whiskey, was more stubborn than a hungry mule, would swim in a swimming pool of sand if you let her and somehow or another was my trusty companion. Now, how my fears and her loves get along, i will never understand nor try to (being superstitious and all.) I dont want to jinx my tolerance, in such a calamitous situation.
The best way to deny such horrid events, even with how deliriously sleep deprived my mind felt, was to honestly believe it never happened. Deny it to the grave and beyond. the tricky part was for Way Lynn, being a woman of such logic, denying the truth was not part of her program.
"are you Betty Thomas Feather, trying to tell me, that you want me to pretend like this here pickle we jammed ourselves into never happened? Now that right there is preposterous, and i will do no such thing." her stubbornness clearer than her words rang tough against my ear.
"Lord almighty Way Lynn, I'm not asking you to kill a man, i just need you to pretend none of this ever happened, were tourists." Biting my tongue, I thought, it's not easy to convince an honest woman to lie against her family and religious teachings, but i will be struck by lighting and thrown off a cliff, before i let Way Lynn think about opening her trap. "We got off at the wrong bus stop, you understand me Way Lynn? Were just lost that's all, as easy as peach cobbler." The cold steel from my 45 sent a small eruption of goosebumps along my stomach, sirens warning me that my lack of sleep and temporary loss of my mind could prove a blunder, more so that I'm prepared to handle.