Short Stories

bless the rains

It had been thirty days since Steven had seen anything other than the endless, rolling dunes of the African Desert. Thirty eternal, blistering days of solitude since his plane had crashed on his journey back to the United States. You see, Steven was a volunteer, a known philanthropist, a do-gooder of sorts. He normally stayed within his realm, volunteering at local events and community functions; but when the opportunity arose to leave the country and help a third-world tribe; well, ... he jumped at the chance. Little did Steven know, on his journey home a fierce storm would hit, leaving him the sole survivor of the tragedy and pitting his kind heart against harsh Sahara landscape.

Steven had placed his thirtieth marked on the inside of the busted plane as he savored a single stale cracker and a drop of water.

I have officially run out of food. I haven't seen water since the initial storm, after emptying all the emergency lifeboats and any additional food on the plane, I managed 30 days of rations. At least I'm the only one eating, I could have ran out faster if they had survived ,he thought to himself, looking over at the four raised mounds of sand just outside the destroyed plane.

"I suppose it's time I move." Steven spoke as he stood and gathered what few things he had; a small, charred notebook, a broken pencil, and a small pocket knife he managed to salvage from the wreck.

For the next three days Steven woke with the sun, marked his journal, dusted himself off and walked. Wandering. Searching. For anything. More and more Steven was becoming one with the desert; he was tanned with the scorching sand, his lips were severely chapped like the thirsty tumbleweeds that crossed his path, and his demeanor resembled a wilted dry desert tree, all while remaining dust with the sand that wholey comprises this barren wasteland. He was becoming his own Sahara. After three days of mindless wandering, Steven had decided to follow a small scorpion that crossed his path. He didn't feel it would lead to an oasis or salvation but it gave him some false sense of direction, which he enjoyed.

" Day 36 , I stopped following the scorpion yesterday, I just got so hungry. I picked it up, cut off his tail, and pincers, then ate him. I've never tasted something so symmuniously delicious and revolting. But ,I'm still alive. Hopelessly lost, but alive. I haven't moved since I ate my scorpion guide. There's no point. I'm never going to be rescued, I'm never going home." , Steven documented in his notebook for his own sanity.

For the next day, he sat in the warm sand and watched the world go by, but in the still silence he heard something.

He jumped to his feet.

"It's a voice." Steven spoke hoarsely, a very distant murmur but he heard it. "It sounded so beautiful." Steven thought as he ran towards it; he assumed he must have been running for 5 minutes before he heard it get any louder. During those minutes, Steven thought to myself, "maybe I'm hallucinating, maybe it's not real, but it's all I had.The distant sound of a voice. Of someone. Of anyone. " As he drew closer, Steven couldn't make out what they were saying; no... singing? They were singing. As the broken man continued to race to his salvation he failed to notice the voice getting louder or the fact that he had run up a large dune. As he made his rapid plunge down the hill, all he could think of was finally seeing the beautiful siren that was his salvation, until I hit his head on something hard at the bottom. Assuming it was a rock , Steven rubbed his head, rolling over to inspect the stone. "A ... Pillar?", Steven thought as he got to his feet and looked down; subsequently dropping to his weathered knees. There sat three speakers connected by various wires, masterfully placed atop white, smooth monoliths; and from these speakers played a song:

🎵I bless the rains down in Africa 🎵