Oversight
Mel stood in the middle of the wasteland he’d been traversing for…hours? Days? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything. He turned to look at the tracks he’d left in the sand and watched as the farthest ones began to disappear on the growing breeze. In the distance there was a mountain range, which had been his compass for as long as he could remember. Despite walking directly away from the range for quite some time, the mountains hadn’t changed in stature. They stood, mocking him, just as large as they had the last four times he’d looked at them. His lips cracked and ached as he opened his mouth to yawn, feeling the dryness of his tongue and grains of sand between his teeth. He patted along his torso until he heard faint crinkling and, from his breast pocket, he pulled a folded piece of paper. It was worn and seamless, it’s texture closer to that of thin cotton, and as he unfolded it he tried to remember why it was there in the first place. He would’ve read the words aloud if he’d had the extra strength.