Tan

You're in a desert. The blazing sun bakes your skin and dries your throat. Your cranium tightens around your brain. You feel as though you are being digested, swallowed by the stomach of the sand. When you look to the East, you see signs of an oasis in the distance. You cannot surely tell if you are imagining it, but you carry on regardless. It is your only way out. Once in a while, the faint jingle of an ice cream truck plays with your mind and trails off, leaving only the sound of the curling wind and your plodding footsteps. You remember what it was like to be a kid in the summertime. Whenever you got too hot from playing, there was the ice cream truck coming around to cool your tongue. You almost wish you could go back home, where abounds the luxury of air conditioning. But then you remember why you left in the first place. You wanted this. You were sick of getting everything you asked for, so you left comfort and stability, knowing that pain would set in. You told yourself to take the tough road because it would be worth it in the end. After all, there are some who have no choice but to live and die in oppressive heat. And this is where it has led you: to relentless sun and wind and sand. What else could ever survive here? You look down at your hands, so rough and calloused from the wood. Only a few weeks ago, they were so white and delicate. Now, splintered, they hurt every day...yet every day, they grow stronger. You look off to the place where the possibility of water exists, of life exists. You step in faith towards the East, and step again. You hope that your feet will become strong like your hands. They would have stayed so weak back home. You wonder if it was ever truly your home at all. Shifting your eyes from faraway to close, you make firm your every footstep. You have gained confidence. Resting beyond the desert plain, your destination. Resting in your arms, a cross in hands that are no longer yours.