The Letters of Eustace Fairfax

On the 5th June, 1877, Mr Eustace Fairfax set off on an exploration of the Sahara Desert with one week of food and water rations. What you are about to read are the four letters his sister, Mrs Penelope Ellington, recieved. Though he could not post them, they were eventually found on his person when he was located. His final letter is not signed off for reasons that our department have not been able to find out.

Letter 1: Wednesday 6th June, 1877

Dearest Penelope,

It is with great joy that I write to tell you of the beginning of my expedition. Setting off only yesterday, I have managed to cover quite a bit of ground on foot. You have probably been wondering about my whereabouts for the past few months and father must have told you that I had been on the continent fighting wars and doing all of that nonsense he was always so fond of. It was lies, sister. I was actually on the continent discovering new flavours and sensations. Like Byron in his Child Harold's Pilgrimage, I was searching for newer, better, more lively aspects of my life - experiences I had never experienced before. The root of my life has always been this kind of brilliant adventure that one only reads about in storybooks. Speaking of which, I hope your children enjoy the storybooks I have had sent over to them for the summer - no doubt they will end up like you and I with an obsession for marauding faraway lands.

Anyways, I embarked from Southern Morocco on foot to find myself at the gates to the place I had only read about. The Sahara Desert is a wonderful thing and all the sensations of the first sighting of this desert plain filled me with a sense of pure achievement. This is where I was supposed to end up and all my life has been leading up to the moment. The scent of the warm sand filled the atmosphere and the heat of the sun blazed down like the light of God himself. A fortress of golden dunes alongside a never-ending sight of majestic exploration awaited me, I set off forth with an intent I had only felt when exploring the history books of the location. But still, it does not compare to the sheer experience in person.

At this very moment, I am sitting on the sand upon a towel and counting my rations. I have not brought much with me but I imagine that the heat of the sun may starve off my hunger yet. I have not as of yet, eaten all day and though I have brought enough for breakfast, lunch and dinner, I cannot see myself consuming as much as I do in your presence. (Your cooking is far more delicious than the humble bread and cheese I have brought along). My only fear is that the heat may pollute the bread and cheese before I actually get a chance to eat it. But counting my rations and fending off food for today has given me a strange kind of hope that I may have enough after all.

I will write again as soon as chance allows me.

Your brother,

Eustace.

Letter 2: Friday 8th June, 1877

Dearest Penelope,

The entirety of my Thursday was spent traversing the desert plains with all their glorious atmospheres. I believe I have seen creatures but I cannot be sure for they are fast as they are little, and probably poisonous. I am both filled with happiness and a strange sense of dread. For you see, I have realised that being in the middle of the desert at this particular moment in time means one of two things: number one, I have not got enough water to traverse the rest of the desert. Number two, I have not got enough water to turn back the way I arrived. I am though, playing it by ear and when thirsty, I am only drinking the very least in order to sustain myself. It is most difficult and at times, I feel mirages glow and grow afront of my eyes - for they are made fools of by the other senses now. But, I am sure I will be alright. I will return to you, that I promise.

The heat has been most unforgiving, for the more I move further and deeper into the desert the more I realise and feel the heat not on my skin, but I am sure that it has radiated on to my bones. The stinging sensation has sent my forearms a bright and bloodied red. As I look behind me, I try my best not to physically turn around for I fear I may lose my footing and forget which way I am actually headed. The desert is an unfamiliar place yes, but it seems to look as above, so below at this moment. Nothing is changing and the landscape remains a static no matter how much I move though I try not to run.

If times allows it, I will break through to the other side and possibly see land again. Though I do love the desert and have until a few days ago only read about it in books, I am also sure that I would like to see civilisation again as soon as possible.

I will write again as soon as I can. For now, I need to walk a few more miles - I can feel it in my soul.

Your brother,

Eustace.

Letter 3: Monday 11th June, 1877

Dearest Penelope,

I was right about the food, you know.

Both bread and cheese are now completely inedible. I discovered this yesterday when I set down my bag upon the dunes and opened it up to locate my map and compass. The mould of the food was a driving stench only made worse by the heat of the inferno above me. The sun set highest in the sky meant that I could tell it was lunchtime. All I had though were a few drops of water to cool me down. The shroud on my head is wet with perspiration and the evening is not much cooler than the day. I have made it my priority to travel by night as I think that though it is not much cooler, it could save me on water for I am running out of it very quickly.

The scent of the sand burns in my veins now, the sweat on my brow is the only thing I can taste and my bag is wet from the dripping perspiration from my back. I fear that this might have been an act of misadventure. I still see no finish line and no hint of civilisation. I have, as of yet, no idea how many more miles I will have to walk before a glimpse of another human being meets my eye. As I touch the sand to reach for my bag, I notice the crawling creatures of the desert that bitten and pinched holes into it, creating a crevice so wide that my compass slipped right through without my notice. It has not been seen for miles and I have no clue as to whether I am still walking in the right direction.

I am eager to send you my letters, though I do not know if they will ever get to you and I may leave this one out for fear of scaring your young children as you read it around the fireplace. You may be thinking of me right now and if you are, dear Penelope then please think on this: I will soldier on through the mirages, through the inferno in order to get back to you. For this desert shall not defeat me. The night is long, the days are weary and my eyelids are heavy with fatigue from the heat. Though this be the case, I am strong in spirit. My faith keeps me alive.

Your brother,

Eustace.

Letter 4: Wednesday 13th June, 1877

Dearest Penelope,

I regret to inform you that faith may not be enough to sustain me much longer for I have run out of water almost entirely. The last drops are that of which I consumed last night whilst travelling the plains for another few miles. It is true that I still cannot see any glimpse of humanity around this desert and the idea of me returning home alive has become simply an impossibility. I ask you to not read this letter out loud to my nephews for it will make them very sad and frightened.

As one of my final acts on earth, I am writing this letter to you and as we are being completely honest, it will be my final letter. I was wrong about the adventurous spirit that guided me to new sensations as most of it only got me into deep hot water where father was required to get me back home safely. Unfortunately, my luck has run out as our father would not be able to find me here, no matter how hard he tried. The sand dunes stretch on for thousands of miles and the uphill climbs are now too much for my weak bones. I am growing hungry, sleepless, dangerously hot and delirious. I fear that I will not last much longer out here in the scorching heat and that whenever I do go, it will take a while to find me.

I first realised that my death was iminent when I was sitting watching the sunset yesterday. With my water about to finish, my food supply vanquished and my backpack torn up by crawling creatures of the plains, my hopes were wavering. This was not though, the moment of exact realisation. The moment of realisation actually came when I looked over the boundless grounds and into the distance and, squinting my eyes to see as far as I possibly could, saw nothing but more sand. I then walked some few miles along, sat myself on the ground and squinted, doing the exact same thing. I saw nothing but level sand. I did this over and over again throughout the entire evening and - I saw nothing but sand. Level, endless, boundless, lifeless - the air was warm and dry as the darkness of my own soul sunk down over me, covering me in the horrid thought that I may never leave this bare, stretched jail of experience.

The scent of the sand, warm from the sun and on fire underneath me caused me to look up into the sky. I knew from that moment on that God, wherever he was, would call on me soon. The night got darker, the golden sand cast over with a hue of navy delirium. I sat and contemplated some more; praying and thinking on your young sons whom I may never see again. I did not cry or grieve or become saddened. I had, from that moment, given up on my future endeavour of leaving this place. My only hope would be to go as far as I can in the little time I have left. The night sky and its stars hung above me, silent and waiting. The desert stretched as far back as it did forwards and, unaware of my direction, I think I fell into slumber with that final contemplation in my mind. Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.