(no subject)

[kyrasantae]

I know not where I travel. This desert is empty; not even a mirage of water. It is night, and the wind blows cold. I do not know why I am here, walking, dragging my feet through the sand. I wish I could just go no further but there is nowhere to which I can return. My wineskin is dry -- I have not long to live. I am not old, but I am so tired, and the stiffness and the pain in my limbs make every plodding step burn like ten thousand needles. I cannot lay down, else be consumed by the shifting sands. I can only stagger weakly on through this endless nothingness until I die; at least there is some comfort in knowing that there will be no vultures to peck at my innards after I have departed.