The Wall

Chapter I

Chapter I

Nameless

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A ringing noise like that of an alarm clock echoed throughout his head as he watched the all-consuming wasteland. The numbness he had felt weeks ago felt like less of a curse now more than ever. Now, he felt every particle of sand rubbing his dark, exposed legs raw. There was also a burning in his hands and arms that he would never be able to explain.

A gust of wind blew the wasteland's sand through his tan cloak and into his eyes. It clung inside of his short beard and unkept hair. But he didn't let it bother him: he couldn't. He wiped the sand away, knowing he had to keep going. So, he began his ascent of the latest sand-dune out of the hundreds he had already scaled.

He could feel a burning sensation in his throat as its walls clung to each other. His hand instinctually reached down to the satchel which hung from his shoulder, but stopped when his brain kicked in.

There was no water to find. He would have tried finding a cactus to squeeze like TV stars had done on shows, but there were none in sight for nearly a week.

Just my luck, he thought. You take Hope from me, and now you'll kill me without a second's hesitation? He closed his eyes tightly, smiling grimly as he considered the possibility of this being his final resting place.

"After all of this, huh?!" he shouted angrily. "After all you've put me through, and now you'll take me, huh?!" He looked towards the sky as if expecting an answer, but he received none. In a spike of adrenaline and anger, he roared at the cloudless sky.

The man began sprinting up the sand-dune, unwilling to let this take him. He wouldn't die here: not when he still had work to do; not when he had a promise to fulfil.

As he reached the top of the hill, he looked out amongst the land. Amongst the hills of sand was a glint of light that caught his eyes. He found, to his left, there was a strip of black running between the arching dunes. He could only see one, shiny, black object on what he knew was a road, but it had to be enough: it had to be.

I won't let you kill me now, he thought, looking at the sky.

He grabbed the strap tightly with the right of his leather-gloved hands. He felt a burning feeling upon gripping the strap, but it didn't matter. He had to find water, no matter the risk he was taking.

The man ran down the hill, his cloak catching the wind as he went. Sand pelted his dark legs below his camouflage shorts, becoming lodged in the hairs. But it didn't matter. He reached the bottom of the hill in seconds before making his way to the road ahead.

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The man was quick on his feet considering his age. He made it to the final sand dune in a time that even surprised him, though he slowed down to a creep when he arrived. He crouched as close to the ground as he could without crippling his mobility, placing a lone hand to the ground where he stood. He closed his eyes, listening to the desert's wind. No crow or snake pierced the wind's gentle voice. Still, he was not convinced. He opened his eyes abruptly before pulling his cloak over his head. He snuck up the dune-side quickly and quietly. Thankfully, the sand concealed any noise his heavy boots would have made on solid ground. It was the lone perk to this sandy hell.

Upon reaching the peak, he got onto his stomach to conceal himself as best as he could. He crawled over the last part of the hill concealing the road from him and looked upon the asphalt.