My Day Off

At first, I didn’t know what had happened. I’d gone through my front door to leave the house, ready for work. Armed with my briefcase, clad in a shirt and tie. I carried an umbrella, a tiny, clear affair that was hardly any use whatsoever, because the weather reports the previous evening forecast rain, though none had yet presented itself, at least not before I stepped through the threshold.

Once through I was met with a grating, hot wind. The sun beat down on me from directly above; moments ago, it had occupied another quarter of the sky entirely, and not been anywhere near as fierce. Now it felt as though it had a vendetta against me. Squinting up at the oppressive yellow orb, I raise my hand, middle finger extended. With that tiny bit of rebellion over with, I covered my head with my briefcase and began to move across the dunes. What little I knew of traversing deserts came from having read ‘Dune’ at an early age, and though I doubted it was really a concern, I tried my best to move without rhythm. I feel that I still would have attracted a worm, however.

Shade. Shade was what I needed, and water. Then it struck me; I had an unopened bottle of water in my briefcase! I lowered it, allowing the sun to blind me while I opened up my only source of shade. The water bottle was there, an entire litre of life-saving liquid. I swallowed a small portion of it, poured a tiny amount onto my forehead. That latter I allowed to run into my hair and cool my head off a little bit.

I began walking once more, then. All I could hope was that I was heading in a straight line, and vaguely towards somewhere inhabited. For all I knew, I’d been transported somewhere entirely away from any sign of civilisation. Part of me hoped that this was some kind of incredibly vivid dream, but the discomfort I felt at my situation belied that possibility. Still, I’d just left home. I was on my way to work. Perhaps I’d suffered some kind of seizure on the train, and this was the result. My brain telling me a story set in the desert.

Or perhaps I was lost in the desert, with no explanation, and no hope of survival.

The blasting hot wind was cooling as the sun was beginning to set. I sat, then. Simply sat atop a dune. I took a swig from my water bottle; it was still half full. I judged that I’d been walking for about three or four hours. Much more than I was used to, and my feet were letting me know all about it. I removed my shoes and socks, only to discover layers of sand between each layer of clothing. I rubbed my feet clear of the offending grit, attempted to clean my socks as best I was able, knocked as much sand as I could out of my shoes.

My feet had swollen up enough while I did this that neither sock nor shoe would fit. I threw my head back, then, and laughed. At least I think it was laughter. When the sound died off it had more of a howling quality to it, but I’m sure it had begun as laughter. I also swore, loudly. And screamed.

Then I simply sat. I drank some more water, then I slept.

I awoke as the sun began to rise, feeling half frozen from the night’s cold. It had been as bitterly cold overnight as today was going to be blisteringly hot. I glanced at my water bottle; the contents remaining could maybe have amounted to a single cup’s worth. Fortunately, overnight my feet had returned to their normal size, so I replaced my socks and shoes before beginning my trudge, hopefully in the same direction I’d been going yesterday. Perhaps today I’d find another human, or a source of water. Regardless, I walked. Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.