Desert Dreams

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A young Abe on a mission

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A hot wind whipped around him, sending sand stinging between the folds of his cloak to burn his skin and eyes. He paused in the shadow of a building to wrap the cloth more tightly about his face, then buried his hands in his pockets, took a steadying breath, and stepped once more into the maelstrom. No one with any sense at all would dream of venturing out on a night like this, he reflected wryly, while the wind screamed and howled around him. It tore at the layers of fabric engulfing his spare frame, seeking an opening through which to sear his body and tear the skin from his bones. Not today, he thought grimly, and hunkered farther into the protective folds of cloth, grateful now for their often burdensome weight. Was it worth it, really? A tiny voice tugged insistently at the edges of his thoughts. He scowled, determinedly squelched the thought, and hurried on. But the nagging doubts were not so easily banished, and soon were back, pulling his attention away from the task at hand. And he would need all of that attention, he knew, for any misstep would go very badly for him, indeed.

He startled awake with a cry, head heavy with the fog of abruptly ended slumber, and tried to chase the remnants of the dream. But they skittered away from him, melting into nothing in the morning sun. He was left with a dry gritty mouth and a vague sense that the world had been on fire. For an instant he almost remembered, and then it was gone. He shrugged, swung his feet over the edge of the bed, and headed for the bathroom to rinse the sand out of his eyes.


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