Pichouette.

Dec 18, 2006 13:16

The desert is a desolate place. Sand hills rolled around her, and her head shook in disbelief at the nothingness that was before her. Her only friend, the Moon, shone high in the purpling sky. Her legs buckle in fear and she kneels in the cool sand. It slipped through her fingers. She can feel the wind around her quickening, and picking up sand as it does. She continues to cry, tears that taste of a place so far from here, the sea. Suddenly she can't see in front of her, the sand whips across her face. Still crying, she waits the sudden storm out but when it's over, she feels nothing but regret. She tries to smile, but she can't, it's as if the task is too great. Her face is set in the expression that has become so familiar to her. She puts a hand to her cheek, but the moment of skin on skin. She awakes. Cold, sweating, shaking. Her trembling fingers reach for her mouth. And her chapped, cracked lips force a smile.
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