Sand and sun all around. Sand sun-bleached and white as a sheet. The man drags through the resisting land, burning his caked and bleeding feet. His esophagus wheezes particle breezes. His heart pounds like a snare drum. His glum face is set like a rock, mouth firm and mind pondering. What is this man’s purpose out in this cruel, anti-human waste? To where is he wandering? Is he being chased? We must enter his brain in order to ascertain this end. Let us descend with our deductive minds into the corporeal, and nest as unwelcome guests inside his ignorant privacy. Fly with me, readers, in the authorial spirit, and let us solve this disturbing jigsaw. For jigsaw it is, as his mind is delirious and monomaniacally fixed on his own thirst.
“Please for water. Water from an imposter for a curst man. The word ‘man’ fits strangely inside my mind, like a round peg in a square hole. I am immortal, but I live forever waterless. Am I going in circles? Which way is north, and where is my shimmer? I was a star, but I shine no longer. The demon has hidden my shine. He has cast me to this aching desert in the hopes that I will not find and unsheathe my omnipotent rays. I am a stubborn flea tickling the earth’s baldest spot: this vast loveless desert. I feel its heartbeat in my body starting with my feet, shimmering up to my legs, up my waste, through my arms, fingers, fingernails, nostrils, pupils, earlobes, through every vein and cell within my body. And my heart, where is my heart? It is the desert heart, the godless heart, the dry and sandy and coughing heart. The impure heart. The intemperate heart. The barren heart. The pitiful heart. It is the heart that is all fire and flame. My heart is the only bloodless heart under the cursing sun. Its veins are shriveled and burning winds flow through, making horrible whistling sounds on their path to destruction. My heart is the heart of waterless vengeance but will never die for spite. My heart is the heart of pride, and once it learns to pump with health, divinity will tremble. But first my waterless metamorphosis, but first my grueling rebirth, but the first the ongoing search for my stolen shine and its obscure shrine.”
Now back to your seats, lovable readers, and ponder: Who is god?
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