Monday, August 11, 2008

Writings: Heat

Words: 318

He felt as though he was in a horrible sauna with its temperature going out of controlled. Even four hundred and forty four Degree Celsius in the fiery lake of sulphur cannot be worse than this, he thought to himself morosely. What a wretched existent I have.

His back was burned from lying on the rough texture of the sand. If only he could stand. He was too exhausted, both mentally and physically.

The pounding in his head was getting worse. It sounded as though as a team of construction workers were busily hammering away. And try as he might, he couldn’t disregard it. The insistent of construction team to make their noise echo in his head was too hard to ignore. He wanted to scream at them to SHUT THE HELL UP. But his lips were sticking together and he was thirsty.

“Water!” he cried out silently instead.

But there was none.

One… Two…
Three… Four...

The red crows flew around in circles above him. That, of course is ridiculous. The only birds in the desert are the vultures. The heat must be getting to me, he thought. And crows are supposed to be black not red.

He wondered if he was imagining. There were shimmering patterns floating in the air with the red crows. No, he amended, it’s the air. Spiralling, swirling, and spinning before him.

They distorted into all sort of shapes and sizes until he could see nothing else but red, red and red.


His eyes hurt. The light threatened to penetrate through his eyelids and was seeping red and bloody. He opened them. Immediately a voice admonished him.

“Silly boy! What are you doing, lying on the rooftop during midday? No wonder you fainted!”

All imagination of surviving a day in the desert was gone as the fourteen year old tried to explain to his mother the idea of experiencing novel new things.


Anonymous said...


T__T said...

erm thanks? :)

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