Ten Days in the Desert

These ten days that I am about to tell you of I would qualify as the worst ten days of my entire life. The absolute worst. When I sit quietly, amidst stillness and with no distraction, it would all come back to me with a horrific remembrance that no one would ever desire to feel. It is hard to tell of it, not because I don’t remember how it happened, but because it brings me the tormenting memories that flood my head with how I nearly met my fate. However, I must finally disclose my horrific experience in the Arabian Desert, for reasons better kept secret.

It began when the Douglas A-4 Skyhawk, the plane I was flying to Riyadh, was shockingly shot down from the sky. I never discovered who shot the plane and caused the crash, and I do not desire to. It would bring me nothing but harsh pain and extreme anger, which would likely cause me to do something that I would regret later. The Douglas A-4 Skyhawk plunged downward three hundred feet into the vast, dry Arabian Desert, killing the pilot and three fellow passengers. I miraculously survived. I say I survived and I did, but certainly not without injury. When I became conscious three hours after the crash, I was suffering from three broken ribs, a large gash in my side, and a concussion, although I didn't know it at the time. Now that I think about it, I should've been dead. Or close to it. But somehow I had managed to soften the landing by wedging myself between two seats. I obtained the gash when I was hurled into a dismantled metal door.

I awoke later feeling excruciating pain and weakness. The roof of the Douglas A-4 Skyhawk had been ripped off in the downward plummet so that the scorching sun had been pouring down on me for the past three hours of that evening. I sat up and groaned under the pain of my wounds. My throat burned with thirst and my skin was pink from the hours under the sun. As I looked out over the golden sand of the desert, I realized that my chance of survival was slim. Very slim. I had no food, no water, three serious injuries, and a vast, sandy desert with no protection from the scorching sun and likely no civilization for hundreds of miles. I felt hopeless.

Then I remembered what my father had said to me long ago. “There is no failure except in no longer trying.” Failure, in this case, was death. And I was not ready to die. If only for my father's sake, I would survive. Or try to at least. I stood up, in pain, and began to notice my surroundings. The three other passengers that had traveled this far with me were now lying lifeless on the floor of the plane. I limped over to the cockpit and saw that the pilot was also lifeless. I began to realize how lucky I was to be standing there, alive. As I stood there, I decided that there must be some food somewhere in the plane, for there had been plenty of it when the plane was in the air.

I fumbled through the various storage compartments, searching for anything that may be useful to me. I found that part of the storage area of the plane had been ripped off and likely lay miles away. Fortunately, though, I was able to find two and a half cartons of water (very warm), four packages of crackers, some spoiled meat, and a few half rotted pieces of fruit. It would have to do. Besides the food items, I acquired a rope, a pocket knife from one of the passengers, a ripped tarp, and some matches. I stuffed them in a canvas bag that I found in a storage compartment. This wasn't near what I needed to survive even two days in a desert. But little did I know that this was only the first of the ten unforgettable days that I would spend stranded in the merciless Arabian Desert.

By the time I got all the supplies out of the plane, the round orange sun was disappearing behind the sandy desert mountains and it was dark. I decided to head back into the plane for the night. As I stepped back into the entry, I noticed that the blood-covered gash in my side was burning and oozing. I needed to clean it but I would have to use the water that I needed for drinking. Either way the water was important for my survival. I poured one fourth of the warm water onto my wound and tried to clean it as well as I could. Then I ripped the sleeve of my shirt off and covered the wound. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep immediately.

When I woke the sun was once again beating down on me, and I quickly moved into the cooling shade. I gathered my supplies and stepped out of the shade onto the golden sand to face my enemy, the desert. I walked for five minutes before I became so exhausted that I could walk no longer. My body was soaked in sweat, my ribs throbbed, and my side burned. I knew that I wouldn't last much longer without some help, whatever kind. Even a good night's sleep in a safe, comfortable bed would give me enough strength to make it a few days longer than I would now. But if I wanted any chance of surviving, I had to try.

So I stood, gathered my assortment of survival items, and began to walk again. The desert sand was dry and hot but luckily I had sturdy hiking boots to protect my feet from it. After walking for about twenty minutes, I couldn't go on any longer without gulping a large portion of my water down. I noticed that I was also considerably hungry and, in order to feel strong enough to go on, I hungrily devoured a half a package of crackers and a half molded apple. It did the trick somehow and I was able to continue on my trek.

Soon, though, the sky began to darken and I was forced to find a place to stay for the night. I laid my jacket down and used the canvas bag holding my supplies as a makeshift pillow. Although it wasn't near as comfortable as even the seats in the plane, it would do and I miraculously fell asleep quickly. I was stirred awake the following morning by the sweltering sun and was desperate for cooling shade. But it seemed as though no where, in this desert, would I find cover from the heating light beating down. I got up and walked, desperate for shade, for water, for food, for rescue. I was already so despairing and this was only my second day here. I thought as I walked. I did not desire my life to end this way. I was not ready, as I said before. Too much I would leave behind if I perished here, now. Too much would I miss. So I could not die. I slept uncomfortably that night, for I was soaked in sweat and in pain.

I woke early, for I could sleep no longer. This, I realized, was the beginning of my third day here in this treacherous place. The third and fourth days went much like the first and second. Walking, then stopping to replenish my hunger and thirst, then walking more, in pain always. I knew that I would run out of my food and water rations soon, and even just the thought made me weak. But I walked on, trying to clear my mind of these frightening thoughts.

Night came quickly both days and although I felt like I had walked for days I realized, to my dismay, that I really hadn't gone far either day. The fourth night didn't go as well as the previous nights. I lay for hours awake before I finally slept. Then, it was morning again. When I woke I felt weak, my ribs hurt worse than ever and my side seemed numb, although I could still feel intense, unbearable pain. My skin was red and blistered from the merciless sun. It was hard to sit up this time, and I collapsed when I tried to stand. I cleaned it again as well as I could, but it didn't help much. I walked less than half the amount of time and distance today than the other days. I sank down into the sand for the night earlier than the other nights. I couldn't go on.

Before I finished swallowing the last of today's rationing, I was asleep.

I awoke with the same familiar feeling of pain and weakness. Day six. I was getting desperate. I part of a pack of crackers left and a rotted apple. I barely possessed one cup of water, which was the worst of it. The meat was long gone. I hadn't eaten it because it was so spoiled. Now I would have. I would have been so desperate that it wouldn't matter. Too late. Each day that had passed I walked less and less. Today I didn't think I could walk any. But I had too. So I started, very slowly, with more frequent rests.

The next day went like this too, for some reason I can hardly remember this day. Day nine found me close to giving up. Close to releasing myself to the fate that sedulously crawled closer and closer, day by day. But somehow, I fought on, walked on. My tired mind played tricks on me again and again. Once I thought I saw the cool, shimmering water of a lake, surrounded by the cover of tall palm trees. But as I stumbled closer, it disappeared into the wretched golden sand that I saw so often, everywhere.

This day seemed the longest out of all eight full days I had wasted away in this place. But each everlasting day always comes to an end, although it may seem years before it does. I slept restlessly, painfully, waking at the slightest disturbance, which was unusual compared to the past nights. I awakened, immediately realizing that this was my tenth day. I now had no hope of being rescued. Past the luxurious ability of walking steadily, I crawled. Crawled and crawled and crawled on. My knees were raw and bleeding, leaving frightening red stains on the perfectly golden sand.

I heard a distant noise suddenly, and looked up into the clear unshaded sky. What I saw made my heart jump with excitement. A helicopter, flying low, was coming in my direction. I jumped up, forgetting the pain tearing at my body, and waved, waved with all of my remaining energy, which was hardly any. The helicopter slowed, it lowered closer to the ground. I was overjoyed. I felt no pain, no weakness, no hunger or thirst, although every one of these threatened my body. I was being rescued. It was a miracle. But it was also too much for my drained self. As my rescue landed, I collapsed to the ground and released myself to be carried into the safety of the helicopter.

Now I have told my story to the best of my ability and I have nothing to hide. You know fully about the worst ten days of my life. The aftermath is not important, for everything happened as you would expect it to. I was taken care of and, when I had fully recovered, was returned to my old life to write out my story, as I have done now. And, I have resolved never again to embark on a journey that could transpire to be so treacherous.

The End