Skittish little Sand Crab
One day he talked to me in the desert. It was hot; unbearably stifling and I was near being delusional with exhaustion. There was no water left under my tongue, but he came dancing across the waving sands, with a curiosity no living thing should have in this heat.
"Well, my good sir, what does your head feel this fine day?" he asked me.
And I actually responded with a nod, and a quick grasp at him. He skittered away with deft movements, barely seeming to touch the blazing sand. I watched with dread, as he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, leaving me to bake in the oven of this god-forsaken desert.
Shortly after, with a throbbing head, I dug into the shaded sand under a cactus tree. It was cool enough to keep me alive for a while longer.
When the army medics arrived, they moved just like the crab. Skittish and fragile in the heated sand.
I went home in a hammock full of ice surrounded by the whirring of heat pulsing propeller blades. We skimmed over the desert sand forming waves before and behind our tracks.
When I awoke in the hospital, there was once again a skittish little sand crab floating precariously over my bed. Someone had left it to keep me company. This time he didn't leave me behind.
Writing by Regina Stemberger