A pair of knees thudded on the hardwood floor. Dust sprayed into the air, exposed against the last rays of the dying sun, like windblown embers. The bed frame creaked, giving voice to the shattered heart of the man whose weight leaned against it.
Desperation slipped down the man's dust-covered cheeks as if he cried the very blood of his shattered heart. Bleeding until his breath came in stuttered coughs and his chest seemed to collapse as the dust filled his lungs.
As if brought on by the wind beating against the house, thoughts hammered against the man's mind while beneath closed shutters, clawed branches brushed the windows of his soul. White-knuckled fists curled into the bed sheets, but there was no cry left in him. He sat back, dust rising once more as the bedframe moved and his lips continued to leak the heartache his eyes no longer could.
Then a gentle voice spoke and he stopped, suddenly sinking as if an anchor had been tied around his soul and tossed into the sea. His limbs went limp, slipping to his sides as he slid beneath the sand-storm, resting in the calm waters below. He opened his eyes to the dust falling, gold against the rising light, floating away in the glory of the heavenly water.
