I always knew I would die alone.

My feet were aching as they have been for days. Walking and walking and searching; there was no end to my madness. I had no recollection of how and why I was secluded to this damned place. Yet I still had a tiny flame that pushed me forward. To what I have no idea.

For miles I have found nothing but hot sand and blazing sun. Mirages often came to my mind, etching a hope so deep that I was desperate to find anything but what surrounded me. And when the final straw, or so I thought, came across my vision. I slowly dropped to my knees and sat in the sand. My head tilted to the ground as drops of sweat soaked the sand below me. Could I really have found something? Could this building save me? I had to believe in something. My flame was coming to an end.

So the first step was taken. And another. Until I found my way to the building. I was inches from the place, terrified to touch it. My flame might extinguish might this be another terrible dream. My hand ever so carefully reached out, and my flame began to fizzle. Until I found wood, soft wood. It was real. All of it was real. Then I took a bigger step.

Inside, the place was flooded with sand. Deemed abandoned by myself, I felt a teaspoon of sorrow mixed with a cup of hope. Maybe there was something more. Maybe if I looked around the corner or under the covered bed. What if I dug up the sand? There had to be something there. Ah! In the other room, of course. A living creature? No just a pile of wood. What is that? Oh it’s nothing. Have to dig here. There’s more over there.

So hours or days went by as I searched for nothing but my own sanity. I came up short. Nothing to do but sit. Maybe wait? They probably weren’t home.

I sat. I waited. I prayed, to whom I’ve no idea. I felt tired. Laid my head back. I exhaled. My head was heavy. It leaned against the wall. I couldn’t move. My eyelids were closing. I needed a nap.

I closed my eyes and went to bed.