Rub' Al Khali

Rub' Al Khali

167 Reads 3 Votes 1 Part Story
Tristan H. Globes By Homer_ Completed

The voice on the other end of the phone quarantines her to despair. Black's eyes fill with brine. It flows out slowly like petroleum, crystallizing to her cheeks. The lump in her throat grows like a tumor and refuses to let go. She inhales the air. It smells like fallout and tastes like antifreeze. She can hear whispers booming off in the distance, stifled under artillery, oil drills, and the possessive quiet of the desert. She drops her phone into the grainy sand. It sinks.

Silhouettes shimmer in the heat, circling around her like buzzards whispering false reassurances to her. She reaches out to embrace one of the shadows. It dissipates into a cloud of ash. Another shadow takes its place. She tries to embrace this shadow. She jumps back in disgust as the shadow turns into the ugliest vulture Black has ever seen. The circling shadows are much closer now, dancing around her like crazed tribesmen, their whispers oscillating around the ever changing dunes. She reaches for another shadow,...