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Acceptance It was the third day. The sun sizzled onto Dave’s red skin, boiling his blood. A river glittered just beyond that rock. Dave licked his lips and winced, forgetting his sand-papered tongue. There was a beetle crawling along the sand near Dave’s ear. Still watching the river, Dave reached over absently and stuck the beetle in his mouth. He chewed. He swallowed. His eyes never left the water. He wondered how long it would take him to reach it. He pulled himself to his knees, mind reeling. The sun was so hot. It burned his scalp, ate at his eyes. He felt his cheek hit sand again. It would be in his best interest to crawl over to that stream. If at least to keep him alive until the helicopters found him. He reached his arm out, grabbed the sand and pulled himself a foot closer to the river. He thought he might die of thirst. At least now the sun couldn’t get a straight shot at him, now that he was moving. Something tangled and snagged. Dave looked down and saw his pistol hanging from his belt. It was still caked with his mare’s blood. Dave unclipped his belt, fingers trembling. The last bullet was shot anyway. Dave turned away, focused on the flowing river, so cold, growing nearer every inch. A plane’s distant engine whined. Dave continued on. The plane would find him soon. He was the only living organism for miles. In the mean time, he could get to that river and fill his canteen. A lizard flicked across the sand, his pink tongue whipping out and back in. Dave ignored him and lurched on, sand caking his cheek and gritting his hair. He was almost there. Almost. The sun still glared down on his chapped skin, still beat through his thick clothes. Dave’s tongue still quavered in his cheek. Dave could hear the water rushing over the rocks now. A bush sat a few feet away, its roots buried deep in the clear water. Dave could almost crawl onto his knees. He scampered forward, plunging his face into the cool, clean water as it lapped across the riverbed. Dave’s mouth was suddenly full of sand. He opened his puffy eyes and winced. His skin was dry, crackling. A dead bush sat rotting by his head. Dave crawled into the half-shade and closed his eyes. A buzzing cicada rent the thick, silent air. |
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