The Wind's Judgement

The breeze will be the first sensation you feel once you finally gain consciousness. You will awaken to just the slightest of coolness along your skin, not quite cold but it would be worse without it. It will also be the strongest of gale to ever assail your body. The wind blows like a hurricane through what will be the driest climate you have ever seen, and ever will see. It’s a land lying desolate in an endless valley. A place where to say mountains are visible wherever you look would be a lie but walking in one direction long enough will have you on a direct path to one. You have no chance of making it to that border of stone, let alone over it. At least the wind isn’t causing an eternal sandstorm. You would believe it to be a good sign. You would be wrong.

When you get dropped in this wasteland you will notice that you have graciously been granted a tattered poncho that doesn’t quite cover enough to be comfortable, as well as what is essentially a skirt. What you will encounter is nothing but sand and ruin. A fiery wreckage – the flames of which will deter you - or a rusted one so weak that it would crumble the moment you lay a finger on it. Perhaps you might even come across the remains of a building, not enough for shelter but enough that it may pique your interest. There will be columns where walls used to be and odd, useless artifacts scattered in the sand; A deformed coin, a crooked spoon. Signs of whatever came before all the desolation, and whatever that may be will give you no assistance. You’ll find a hatch if you’re not blind, and your sorry soul will be filled with hope. Until, that is, you open it to find nothing but more sand. You could try digging it out, but it would be a fool’s errand. There is no roof, the wind is too strong for any structure to stay standing. The sand has eroded everything in its path. Suns blaze from all directions, so the rubble will offer no respite either. You’ll scavenge until you lose all faith, you’ll have found nothing to save you. Still, you will no doubt move on, push forward. You are stubborn.

Step by step, you will traverse the landscape, unsure if your path is the shortest you could have taken or the longest. Sand is no easy thing to walk on either, least of all the dunes you’ll be forced to ascend, and it will take triple the energy with each climb. The lack of shade obliterates your sense of direction, turning you around until you have even less of an idea about where you are. You will trudge on. There is nothing else you could do.

It would not be long before the breeze sends so much sand your way that the shield of hair on your legs will be insufficient. Every grain of sand will get shot onto your skin with the super-speed acceleration of the wind as if each were a bullet. It will be so irritating that for the sole purpose of not gnawing off your own leg, you will cover it with whatever means you can. There are a few ways to do so, but the chances are you will be so desperate that you’ll tear the little amount of cloth you were granted from your back so that your legs might suffer a little less.

The relief will be brief, as the suns now scorch your bare back. Blisters will arise wherever there is an opening to your skin: your back, neck, hands, the top of your head. Sure, your legs are safe from the intensity of the sun but they’re dangerously low on energy from all that walking you’ve done in unbearable heat. There really is nothing that survives. You won’t find a single lizard or a bug to live off and once you realize that, regret will make itself known. Doubt will form to ridicule your bad decisions, convincing you that it was your own judgement that landed you in that wasteland and led you to such pain. It will be a valuable lesson on not making enemies, but it will be learnt to late, and much like anything you do at this point, it will not matter.

The suns will make you desperate for any sort of shade. A hand will no longer be capable of shielding your eyes because your arms simply will not hold themselves up any longer. It will be so hot in fact, that you will begin to wonder whether any sand has turned to glass. Then you’ll see that it has, and only then will you feel the cuts on your feet. Sharp. Stopping you in your tracks, which upon looking back seem to be just a little redder than the rest of the desert. They will look less like footprints in the sand and more short trails dripped with blood. By that stage your thirst-addled mind will no longer be the same. It will see salvation in the distance. It could be an oasis or a rescue team, maybe a god if you’re that faithful, or even if you’re not. Whatever you see, it won’t save you. Whether you see reality – which will only be your tormentors coming to collect your body – or a hallucination, it will already be too late.

At this point, you will have stumbled for so long without water that your lips will be cracked. Not just your lips but the skin on your fingers too. You will be so desperate for even the slightest hint of relief that you will open your mouth to the wind. It makes little sense, but you think it must carry some sort of moisture. It doesn’t. The only thing that wind carries is an overwhelming barrage of sand. The same sand that, as you’ve discovered, has turned to glass.