N7

The sun scorched the earth like a punishment, and my throat felt like sandpaper scraping against itself. Every breath was a dry gasp, every step a gamble with collapse. I hadn’t had water in two days, and my body was beginning to betray me. My lips cracked open like old clay, bleeding slightly with each word I tried to whisper. The heat wasn’t just outside—it had invaded me, taken up residence in my bones. I could feel my heartbeat slowing, my thoughts drifting like tumbleweeds in a desert wind.

There was no shade, no stream, no miracle. Just dust and the cruel shimmer of heat on the horizon, mocking me with illusions of relief. I remembered the taste of water—cool, clean, life-giving—and it felt like a dream I’d never touch again. My skin was tight, my muscles weak, and my vision blurred into a haze of regret. How did I let it get this far? How did I wander so far from safety, from hydration, from hope?

I dropped to my knees, the ground unforgiving beneath me. If water didn’t come soon, I knew I’d be gone—not just dead, but erased. No return, no second chance, no story to tell. Just a body lost to thirst, a soul evaporated into the sky.