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The road is long and desolate - A narrow stream of asphalt that carves its way through earth, and continues onward into the horizon. It is the last days' ravage that has left in its ruinous wake, a battered and barren land. Remnants of its passing were left in form of murky rain puddles, which lay within cracks and gouges, created by the festering heat of the desert's dispassion. This night's sky casts a deep crimson over the land, shading the remaining life into the backdrop of the fading sun. The world looks so alone in this state of frayed existence and still, it refuses defeat.
The bleakness of eternity shatters the heart into a cringing withered seed, as black as the dragon's eyes. If only he could have hidden... He walks, untouched by the storm, on through the night, the soul reminder of how beauty once was, but that was so long ago.
He looks down at the ground as he walks, desperately avoiding the destruction around him. Holding himself powerless to its defense, he does nothing. Contempt, what a vile and savage word! Created by those too weak to find alternate solutions to dire defeats, and bred by what they them selves have not - Self-respect.
The night in the desert is unforgiving and cold, blood chilling cold. A wind rises from the east and descends from over the mountains and battens the earth with its ravaging hatred. It carries the loose, dry sand with it, gouging the faces of mountains and upturns more of the loose sand from the desert floor. The sky has become blinded by the onslaught as its force escalates. The single walker does not stop to rest. He simply carries on, fighting against the wind and the pain from the sand that slices at the uncovered parts of his face. Each strike is like a mini dagger or razor blade, as if hurled at a blinding speed that cuts the surface of his skin, ever so painfully. After a while, his face becomes numb from any cold or pain. He yields when he feels nothing.