A young boy walked alone through the desert under a wide, empty sky. The heat sat heavy on the sand, pressing down without mercy. There were no landmarks to guide him. No rocks, no trees, no sign that anyone had ever passed through this place before. The land stretched flat in every direction, pale and endless, as if the world had been scraped bare and left unfinished.
He had been walking for so long that distance no longer mattered. Ten miles, twenty, maybe more. Numbers no longer helped him understand where he was or how far he had come. All he knew was that the ground continued forward and that stopping felt dangerous. Behind him, his footprints faded almost as soon as they formed. Wind swept loose sand back into the shallow impressions, smoothing them away until nothing remained. It was quiet work, done without effort, as if the desert erased him out of habit.
The boy was young, though his height made him seem older at first glance. He stood close to five feet seven, tall but thin, with limbs that looked stretched rather than strong. His face still carried traces of childhood softness, but the sun had darkened his skin and pulled tension into his features. His posture sagged as he walked, not from injury, but from exhaustion that had settled deep into his body.
Pain followed him with every step. His feet had swollen inside his worn shoes hours ago. Blisters had broken open, and sand had worked its way inside, rubbing against raw skin. The ache traveled upward through his ankles and into his knees, dull at first, then sharp. It never fully faded. It stayed with him, constant and steady, like a reminder that his body was reaching its limits.
Breathing had become difficult. The air felt thick and dry, scraping his throat with every inhale. His chest rose and fell unevenly as his lungs worked harder to draw in oxygen. Sweat gathered on his forehead and neck, only to vanish moments later, leaving behind a tight, salty film on his skin. His lips cracked when he swallowed, and his mouth tasted of dust.
He slowed and spoke aloud, though no one was near enough to hear him.
"Should I go back?"
The words sounded weak as soon as they left his mouth. They carried no weight in the open space around him. He paused, then tried again.
"I could apologize. I could say I got lost. I could say it was a mistake."
Even as he spoke, he knew it was useless. The place he had left behind felt impossibly distant. Turning back would not undo what had already been done.
He stopped walking and turned his head. His neck protested with a dull ache. For a moment, he hoped to see something different behind him. A shadow. A darker patch of ground. Anything that suggested shelter or life. There was nothing. The horizon looked the same in every direction, flat and unmoving. The silence pressed against him, heavy enough to feel physical.
Fear settled into his chest. It came quietly, without panic, but it stayed. He understood then that if he stopped for too long, he would not stand again. There would be no dramatic ending. He would simply lie down and wait until his body failed. The thought made his stomach tighten. He took another step. Then another. His legs trembled, but they moved.
Regret followed close behind him. It weighed on him more than the heat. The confidence that had pushed him to leave was gone. In its place was a sharp awareness of how unprepared he had been. He remembered running from home, angry and certain that freedom waited beyond the walls he hated. At the time, the road ahead had felt open and full of promise.
The memory faded as quickly as it came. The desert remained. His vision blurred, not only from the sun, but from tears he no longer tried to hold back. They fell onto the sand and darkened it briefly before disappearing. He looked down as if the ground might answer him.
"I miss home," he whispered. The words hurt more than he expected. His strength drained suddenly. His knees buckled, and he fell forward onto the sand.
The heat pressed against his cheek. Grains stuck to his skin and clung to the damp tracks on his face. He tried to push himself up but failed. His arms shook and gave out. He lay still, breathing shallowly, listening to the quiet.
"Why now," he murmured, though no answer came. The wind shifted. At first it was gentle, brushing against his back. Then it grew stronger. Sand lifted into the air and struck his skin in sharp stings. The horizon darkened as dust thickened the air. A storm was moving toward him, slow and certain. His fingers twitched once, then stilled.
Sand brushed over his clothes. The sun dipped lower, stretching long shadows across the dunes. His thoughts scattered, but his breathing continued. One breath, then another. He waited, unsure whether what came next would be an end or something else entirely.