A (very) short story: The Desert

[Blackadder1978]

I walk alone through the sand, one foot in front of the other.  My vision blurs at times; my sight - locked on the horizon - falters, all-too-often interrupted by mirages and false creations.  I need water.  The heat inside me matches the desolate heat of my empty surroundings.  One foot in front of the other towards the horizon.   Pale voices call to me from buildings that shimmer on the edge of my consciousness; would-be illusions of a so-called reality that only distracts me from my search.  Laughter and chatter, long irrelevant.  I need water. 

I kick up clouds of dust across would-be pavements as I pass a storefront after storefront.  The memory of coffee makes me inhale deeply as I pass an imagined Starbucks, but only tasteless air greets my mouth and lungs.  One foot in front of the other.  Will this search ever end?  A faint clink of glasses calls to me and I glance around as the mirage of reality solidifies and a couple laugh over wine and tapas.  And then it fades away once more, replaced only by sand. 

I change direction, as I have changed direction many times, and pass the looming white ghost of St Paul’s.  Bells reach my ears, but the sound barely registers in my consciousness.  I look forwards, only forwards, ever forwards; I look for what I need to sate the dryness in my mouth.  I need water. 

I traipse through that myth of London town, sand in my shoes weighing on my soul; the briefcase in my hand a connection to a world that I both live in and do not, a world whose colours are bland and flavours dull.  My thirst drives me.  The leather handle of the briefcase creaks as I move forward and its whispered sound roars like a klaxon in my head; real.  A sound that evokes a hundred memories, both imagined and experienced.  Distracted, I turn the corner without thinking, moving past the crowds of ghosts in their own empty world.

And then there she is, waiting.  Angelic in her inner beauty, yet demonic in her anger.  Solid and hard-edged amongst a vista of false reality.  The beacon of my reality.  My Domme.  My water. 

Time to drink.