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The Cold Story in the Desert

A widower picks his own grave in the desert.

By Chloe GilholyPublished 6 months ago Updated 6 months ago 4 min read
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The Cold Story in the Desert
Photo by NEOM on Unsplash

I should have known better than to come here. For I am searching for things that no longer exist in this world. I was promised the fortune I was entitled to. The city from the distance used to be the place of my dreams. Dubai was paradise. Now all I see is skyscrapers and poverty in the golden mist. There was no beauty in metropolitan utopias. Even my wedding ring had lost its shine.

In a world filled with capitalism and machinery, I find peace in this simple desert. I can enjoy my thoughts and reflect on the woman I loved and lost.

Nila was the best nurse in the world. She was also my wife, and the mother of my kids. I remember the night she died; the world was watching. The moment her head left her body loops on my social media all the time. When I was a little boy, I always wanted my own smart phone. I leave it under the pillow. I’ve left my family in India. It’s not that I don’t love them, it’s just whenever I see their faces, I see Nila’s sprit. Whenever Nila comes into my mind, I see mechanical creatures laughing at a decapitated corpse.

This technology that gave us clean water and the best cars has caused me this pain and suffering. It is not wise to blame everything solely on robots or AI. Both of these things have a master, and the master needs to be held accountable.

The poor boy who lost control of his axe, I do not blame him. It is not fair that his pictures are burned. He’s a young father now, but barely a man. My wife’s death was a combination of many things; a failed system, corrupt leaders and a collection of on-going wars.

The problem with these wars is that it’s always the innocent civilians that suffer. The true criminals get nothing but a slap on a wrist most of the time. When Nila died, I was promised a huge sum of money. Her funeral would be paid off I’m full as well as childcare for our five children. I have yet to see any of this money.

She was on that show for a reason. Somebody nominated her. I have no idea who would nominate a beautiful soul like my Nila. She’s an angel, they should have known someone precious and feeble like her would have no chance of surviving a show like that. Why would they want her anyway? She was modest, reserved and and an ideal housewife.

Game of Mass Destruction is a show for people who thirst on the worst of humanity. It was no fit place for her, and the fact there was nobody able to stop the show is disgusting. Only now, they’re claiming actions are being taken, but I know it’s only empty words. It’s the same everywhere; whoever has the gold makes the rules.

Without my Nila, nothing makes sense in the world. The lust for life I once had is another day closer to death. I blame our government for not doing enough to stop the show. I blame other world leaders for endorsing it. I blame the ones who took pleasure in my wife’s demise. I blame the celebrities who support any brand that will pay them. In truth, the one I blame the most is myself for not finding a loophole to protect her.

My wife’s death was preventable. She was kidnapped, drugged and tricked into doing that show. Imagine it, a loyal nurse was dragged like a lamb to the slaughter. If she hadn‘t had been so kind, and selfless perhaps she would still be here. It should have been me. Me, Arid, could have taken some of those robots down with my bare fists if given the chance.

I turn the other way. I march further into the golden abyss. I will never see the skyscrapers again. There is nothing left for me here. I am down to my last drops of water and my last piece of bread. I sometimes pass by a few camels, but they stop appearing when the sun sets.

My knees crumble beneath the sand. The world turns blue when my head hits a rock. I cannot walk, only breathe as I accept the great power of Sahara.

Then I see no one and only the stars and sand remain. The only warmth I get is nostalgic flashbacks. I think of everything, then of myself, until my mind goes blank. “Let me freeze to death.”

Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.

Short StoryPsychologicalfamilyCONTENT WARNING
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About the Creator

Chloe Gilholy

Former healthcare worker and lab worker from Oxfordshire. Author of ten books including Drinking Poetry and Game of Mass Destruction. Travelled to over 20 countries.

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Comments (3)

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  • Novel Allen6 months ago

    So Nila was killed by robots on a game show. Somebody better pay the money. Those poor children.

  • mark william smith6 months ago

    I really enjoyed your story. It was captivating. I was caught in its currents and pulled through to the end. Very creative. Very well written. You could be the winner. .

  • NS 6 months ago

    Great choice 👌

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