Baptism by Fire
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The wind kicked up and sand pounded against his body. Crossing the
dunes was always laborious, a brewing storm only added to it. The man had his
face wrapped in a Keffiyeh scarf with goggles to protect his eyes. His goggles old
and worn, and he could barely see out of them anymore. He had ruined any
anti-fog capabilities long ago. Calvin wanted to take the goggles off to look and
see where they were going, but knew it was a bad idea. There was no water to
spare, no way to clean out any particles or irritants. It was better to travel
nearly blind than fully.
His companions continued ahead. One had a rope tied around his
waste that the other held onto to help direct him. Perhaps it would useful to
stick together if a sand storm really did occur. Calvin couldn’t help but think
that in a strong enough storm, rope or no rope, they’d all be tossed and turned
and very little would protect them. Of course, with his sight so diminished, he
did regret not participating in some method of connection. He could make out
their shapes ahead of him. That was enough for now.
Calvin’s legs ached. His knees stiff and unbending. Each step
seemed to sink further and further into the sand. His heart pounded, and he
wondered how many more steps he could take before that struggle ended things before
any storm could. His companions seemed undeterred. He took that to mean he
couldn’t stop either.
The sun, hot and scorching. Dry. Cracked lips. Step after step the
path continued. The sandy dunes gave way to the scorched earth.
They reached their destination. A pile of stones and the rotten
husk of a tree stump from long ago. A desolate oasis. Years ago, there had been
a beach and water for miles. Now, empty lifelessness in all directions.
Calvin removed his goggles. He undid his scarf. Beads of sweat ran
down his face, the salt against his cracked lips reminded him there could be no
respite. He felt as though his bare skin would blister and burn, so rarely
exposed to direct sun.
One companion began to chant. The other took out a vial. A
few drops of water. That’s all there was. It was all that could be afforded.
Calvin dropped to his knees. If he had been less
dehydrated, he might have cried.
The one with the vial wetted his thumb and made a
cross on Calvin’s forehead.
A drop fell to
the cracked ground below. Just one drip, absorbed into the parched ground.
Calvin smiled, his
cracked lips splitting. He tasted blood. It didn’t matter. He found happiness.
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