Immemorial

Sand. Two thousand four hundred and seventy eight cycles. That was the last time rain graced the dunes of Cephtalium. Sand. It was a sudden deluge, a violent torrent that took the lives of a few hundred inhabitants of our underground city before the engineers were able to seal off the upper level. There was little mourning for the deceased since the upper level belonged to the poor, criminal, and diseased, my home. Sand. A quiet resolve emanates from a small candle lit memorial carved into the rock near the entance of our city. I crouch to look at it as the sand blows around my feet and the sun slowly creeps across the rough stone floor.