It’s so hot Sometimes The sun blazes on my back Sometimes My legs stall for a moment Sometimes I consider just resting for the rest of my short life

I’m so tired Always My numb legs trudge on and on Always Water is a treasured gift Always The terrifying dunes loom ahead of me

And Never Do I stop Never Do I let the treacherous sand betray me Never Because if I walk far enough maybe someday I’ll escape.

The world is nothing but a white haze.

Morning shrouds the desert’s vision. There is nothing to see but fog. Cold. Empty. Perfect.

The little stenocara beetle perches eagerly at the top of her tall rock; this is her favorite thing in the world, and she has waited for days.

The fog hugs close to her body, so close that the water gathers densely between the hills and grooves of her thick round shell. She leans her body forwards, and a big ball of water rolls into her mouth.

Delicious.

She repeats this several more times, lavishing in the illusion of space this blinding fog provides. In her mind, the world is nothing but her, the rock, and delicious morning dew.

But nothing lasts forever. The sun continues creeping steadily across the horizon, and with its killing warmth the dew will quickly vanish. Now that the beetle has drunk her fill, she must prepare for the perils ahead. The desert is a dangerous place. There are lizards, trickerous plants, carnivorous insects, and great furry beasts that trample the ground with their hooves and claws and feet.

The last of the desert’s waters are soon swallowed by the sun’s rays, and the beetle is left to fend for herself. Her eyes report fractured vision— a puzzle of blocks all slotted together. She sees a slithering snake and hungry hopping birds in the distance, and knows she must keep from being seen. Her hard shell and insignificant size will only protect her from so much.

The stenocara beetle crawls underneath a large red rock, shielding herself from the sun’s sweltering gaze, and more importantly, the prying eyes of all who want to take her life for themselves. She will rest here and process the dew she has swallowed, then venture out for food. The life of a desert beetle is harrowing, and the moon may rise through the sky several times before the relief of her precious fog returns.

The beetle soaks up warmth from the sand through her feet, and catches the scent of food nearby on the breeze. She lifts her shell and splays out her wings, then she leaps.

bug in the desert a bug in the desert hot sand, hard shell the bug is in the desert a rabbit is hungry the bug is gone

bug in the sink a bug in the sink slippery basin, grippy feet the bug is in the sink the girl has dirty hands the bug is down the drain

bug on the wall a bug on the wall strong gravity, stronger wings the bug is on the wall the boy is scared to sleep the bug is paper-flat

bug on the floor a bug on the floor vast expanse, eight legs the bug is on the floor the man has arachnophobia the bug is inside out

Everything hurt. The world had become a desert. Her life, unimaginable. She cleaned her antennae with nervous energy. Hoping against hope that this was a problem she could fix. She assessed as she rubbed her injuries. Clean, all clean, She waggled her feelers summoning courage to continue. She tasted the world again.

There was smooth hard glass ground, not a bottle with the sweet promise of sugar water but only hard smoothness and detergent aftertaste. She thought their might have been cookies here long, long ago. Circling, She picked up her own scent. Moving in expanding circles She scrutinized her new tiny world. Where were the We? Thousands of sister trails that hold the world together. Crisscrossing scents that told stories, screamed warnings, offered aid, and always always led home.

Without We, this world was a desert. She shivered, tripping over her six-legged fear. The false sun returned. It burned her again. Zigzagging, She ran as she had been taught. The false sun followed. The reek of humans made her fear turn to rage. She was tired of this game, tired of this desert. She stopped at the world’s edge. She would burn or She would not burn but She would not be sport.

Her exoskelton curved in on itself and She dreamt of home. Home in the warmth of the sisters, She put herself there waving a parasol of leaf, carrying her journey on her legs.

“I’m telling, Mom?”

“What! I’m not doing nothing. Come here.”

The world quaked. The false sun shifted away as the humans wrestled. She hoped the littler one would bite off the head of the larger one. Or at least disassemble a limb with it pincers. No it looked like the larger one would do the head bite today. She despaired but returned to walking in circles for this was her way. Surprise! The little human emitted a powerful alarm harming her atttacker and knocking the world to chaos.

“Mommy! He hurt me. He broke the cookie jar. He’s hurting me!”

“Liar! Mom she’s lying.”

She scampered from her desert. Plans spun in her mind. The noises were so loud it was hard to think. Salt and fear perfumed the air. A big human arrived.

“What the actual—I cannot leave you alone for one moment without all hell popping loose.”

The sound of slaps filled the world and She knew this was the moment to act not think. The little human skirted away with She clutched to her shoelace. With a sugar rain of cookie crumbs tailing behind, the little one picked up speed. Soon the world was right again. Scents of green grass greeted She immediately. The return of the We scent slammed into She’s thorax. Carrying the biggest crumb She could muster in her mandibles, She launched herself back into rightness. We scents waited to bring her home.

First it was the pet shop. They found me and placed me there, in a back aisle where customers rarely saw me. The boys forgot to feed me, and it was there that I thought I would die first. Then that woman bought me, and I was happy for a small while until she died. Then it was the empty apartment, scurrying to find any food I might on the floor or behind the refrigerator. When her kids came to clean up the place, they didn’t see me as a pet, and I had to flee. Then it was the sidewalks, alleyways, trash bins on the city streets. It was in one of those trash bins that I found myself most recently when I was lifted from my meal into the back of a vehicle and tossed somewhere different, far away from my familiar scenes. The dump in the desert …

And now I find myself in the scorching sand, with the sun shining down on me like the lamps used to shine in my tank at the pet shop, only harsher. The sand burns my belly yet there’s no shade to find for miles and miles, which are large measurements for me. I can only crawl onwards until I wither and die. This will be the last of my movements.

There it is! I’ve finally made it. Zzyzx Road.

Damn! The ground is scorching hot. I can handle it though. If I follow this dirt road, they said I’d find the best and biggest abandoned watering hole in the Mojave Desert known to insect, just short of Vegas. And that I wouldn’t want to leave.

On foot, the road went on forever.

A week later, I came upon a huge crucifix-shaped neglected but half-filled pool that appeared crumbled under the desert sun. Shade covered part of it. A few other insects like me were lounging around along the waterline in the shade as if they’d found a paradise. An abundance of insect-water and food. Arrogance was in the air. I could tell they had been here a long time.

Looks like there’s no humans around and my new neighbors don’t seem to mind. I’m going to be here for a long time.

The yellowness leaked into the corners of the crypt, signaling that it was Above day.

I stretched myself in preparation, giddy with possibility.

Perhaps today would be the day.

Perhaps I wouldn't be alone anymore.

3...

2...

1...

I lurched my body into yellow, pushing up and against the sand as it flooded around me. There was a slight resistance before the sudden break, and then I was swallowed whole.

The hotness. The dryness. The expanse of yellow.

This was Above.

It was always a task to make the trek -- risky to say the least.

Above was Eden.

Too full of everything and nothing that predator's camouflage seemed sweet, a kindred soul rushing forward.

A yellow mirage.

I inhabit darkness. Other beings are made for the light; I am not. The light scorches, it burns. It kills. Death lies in the light. All of our kind, my brothers, my cousins, and my sisters, my lineage across generations, wither and dry in the Brightness. Under the Grains of the Sea I crawl, praying the air will remain still, for fast air is the harbinger of death. We try to sleep under the Grains during the Brightness, but food is often scarce. The best among us must travel far through the Grains for nourishment. They often return empty-handed. The searing air is habitable for many things: giant beasts which shake the ground as they walk and smaller monsters roam on top of the Sea, but we cannot. In the dark, I flourish. Crawling free from the confines of the Grains, no longer enveloped, oppressed. I look up and ponder. Those of us far above, crawling across the deep, are many in number. They cannot inhabit the day, either. We inhabit darkness.

The scorching desert is a harsh and unforgiving landscape, a realm where the sun beats down with relentless heat and the air is so dry it feels like it's sucking the moisture out of everything. It's a place where only the toughest creatures can survive. And yet, for the small insects that inhabit this harsh environment, it's the only home they know.

As an insect, every day is a struggle to survive in the scorching desert. From the early morning hours, when the sun first rises, the heat is already intense. The insects must venture out to search for food and water, braving the unforgiving temperatures and the hungry predators that lurk in the shadows.

They move quickly, scurrying across the hot sand, their tiny legs moving in unison as they search for any source of sustenance. They scramble to avoid the scorching heat, using any bit of shade they can find to cool down. But it's never enough. Every step they take feels like a battle against the elements.

As the day wears on, the heat only intensifies. The insects retreat to their burrows, desperate to find any semblance of shelter from the relentless sun. They huddle together, using their bodies to generate heat and stay warm as the desert grows even hotter. And yet, despite their best efforts, they can feel the heat seeping in, draining their energy and sapping their strength.

As the sun begins to set, a small glimmer of hope emerges. The temperature begins to drop, ever so slightly, and the insects feel slightly more comfortable. But they know that the night will be just as challenging as the day, as predators prowl the desert, hunting for food.

And so they continue to survive, each day a hard-won battle against the scorching desert. They must ration their limited resources, conserve their energy, and dodge the dangerous predators that stalk the landscape. It's a life few could imagine, but for these small insects, it's all they know. And though they may be small and seemingly inconsequential, they are fierce fighters, determined to continue their existence in this unforgiving environment.

My people go back millions, billions, and maybe even trillions of generations. We have seen every storm to come and every rainstorm to fall. We have watched them wander here, trying to establish a better life. The desert always takes them in the end. Mythologies of all different types have regarded us as sacred. We have seen the rise and fall of many empires, yet we stay the same.

We are know as the scarab beetle.