The Desert

As night was settling on the desert a man was brought back to camp. He was wounded and in desperate need of medical intervention. They stretched him out on a simple cot and laid him on the sand inside an unoccupied tent. When they had all rushed back out the man was left all alone with only the dark folds of the tent and the swaying flaps of it's door.

Dazed from the pain he waited, trying confusedly to arrange the jumbled events of the day and give them order and context. He struggled to array them in such a way as to deduce how he had arrived at this juncture. All the while the fractured images kept slipping and fading. He began to despair of ever recalling what had truly happened.

As the darkness solidified the moon came out, quite full, and shone through the tents flaps and glowed all around. Periodically the man heard voices, or clattering pots, or the sound of horses, and always the murmur of the tent itself. He couldn't tell if he had been conscious consistently or if he had dozed. It seemed he must have, but he could not be sure. Time was stretching and becoming doggedly difficult to track. His body felt extraordinarily heavy, as well as his breathe. His lungs had to push very hard to lift his chest. He couldn't understand what he was awaiting. He couldn't recall where everyone had gone or when. The breeze wafting into the tent began to chill him uncomfortably and he shivered.

As he stared vacantly at the ceiling he heard the soft sound of footsteps outside. The entry was lifted open and he felt relieved that someone had come at last. To his surprise a young woman stepped inside. She had dark skin like the good earth. Her eyes were black and shone like a cat's in the moonlight. Her raven hair was tied delicately in red ribbon, lifting it away from her soft face. On her body she wore a billowing white gown, blue under the moon. On her feet she wore nothing. With a caring and tender smile tracing her full lips she elegantly whispered over the sand to him. She slowly bent down. kneeling beside him she brought her lips to his in a gossamer kiss. He closed his eyes blissfully and was able to breathe deep and clear for the first time in what seemed like days. When he opened his eyes again she was standing, leaning over slightly and offering him her hand with the same small smile, although he now thought it seemed the tiniest bit sad. Realizing how much lighter and more vital he felt he reached up and put his hand in hers. It seemed to him that she pulled him up more than he stood of his own strength. She inclined her head toward the door as she began to slowly move. He sighed happily and followed. As the moon shone the two of them stepped out of the tent.

As soon as the surgeon arrived he told the men to wait outside. He went in and all was silent for a long moment. At last he reemerged with a sad look on his face.
"I'm afraid he has passed. He never really had a chance. But look inside for yourselves, he has a smile on his lips. It looks like the happiest man among us is the one who has at last been freed by death."

The men peered into the tent and found that he did in fact have a smile of real joy gracing his face. It was so sad yet beautiful that they all felt at peace just to see it.