Crying in the Desert

In the desert, you really never had any time to cry. You had to walk the blistering sands without stopping, hoist supplies on to the camels, and remain ever vigilant against the fiery serpents.

Sure, there were poisonous snakes aplenty, but my father had told me legends about giant ones that could devour Bulls and camels whole. Though I had loved listening to the stories atop his lap as a boy, I never really paid them much mind.

the scorching heat and constant walking was enough to worry about. My father and I were poor, so our camels were both old and frail. We ended up having to walk on foot for at least half of our journey. But eventually, my father did stop walking. And that was the only day I ever found time to cry in the desert.

An adder had shot through the sand like an arrow and latched onto Father’s leg. I’ll never know whether he had stepped on it or if it was just cruel fate. All I know is that he died on that day.

That was yesterday. Yesterday, a year ago, I don’t even know anymore. But I will never again cry in the desert – I haven’t the time.