"Along the rolling dunes I made pilgrimage,
Seeking out my hermitage,
And along the way I was drawn to an oasis new.
And from the desert pool I sipped,
Deigning a hidden thirst my head I dipped,
And when I could drink no more I was adorned with the midnight dew"
The desert sands flowed down dune banks and twirled in the wind as the breeze tangled in on itself, forming cyclones in the valleys between the waves of particulates. Each grane seemed infinitesimally small, and finer than flower, sticking to nothing save for the auburn, wavy haired boy. The glaring sun above cast its scorching gaze down upon the vast wastes’ lone occupant, baking his porcelain skin and threatening to turn him a brilliant shade of red, were this not a dream.
Lucid and vivid dreams were not foreign to the young man. He’d been cursed with a vivid imagination since his earliest days, and with it the blessing, and curse when such dreams turned to nightmares, of night visions which felt just as real as the waking world. Sometimes he was aware of it, and others his mind didn’t feel it necessary to inform him which state of reality he dwelt in.
But this dream felt more than real. It felt like a fundamental truth. The sand stung against his skin. The hot air whisked away the moisture from his lips and tongue, causing him to thirst. The great heat from the sun overhead licked his naked body in the harshest way possible. He wrestled with the thought of knowing he should be frightened, driven by simple instinct to survive, but feeling peace nevertheless.
The desert seemed to stretch in every direction, and for all Antione knew he could wander the land in a thousand lifetimes only to find nothing. He looked north, or what he believed was north given the sun’s position in the sky, then south, east then west. No deviation in the terrain except for the undulating dunes.
“Where am I to go,” he asked, finding his thoughts spoken out loud.
A long, gloved hand extended over his shoulder from behind him, collared in a long flowing red robe. He never thought to turn around, but only to follow the pointing finger.
The thirst nipping at his tongue grew in intensity, and knew he couldn’t stay atop the dune for long. Shapely legs carried him forward as the heat and drought behind him washed over the sands in pursuit, clawing at his heels.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking, but it felt like an eternity. Up and down mountains of sand. Scrambling up the sides desperately while quickly sliding down cascading avalanches of silica. All in the hope of finding Wick knows what.
Then the desert parted, the sand rolling back into a deep bowl with a ridge high enough to obscure part of the deep blue sky, cradling a verdant green oasis.
The banks were too steep and a single step down its slope sent the youth careening down its side, yet unable to stop his sprint. If he dared to slow down he’d simply fall face first, and tumble down the side. So he pushed on, gaining speed.
Only when he reached the bottom, where a wide pool awaited him, he tried to slow down but it was too late. Momentum carried him into the water and finally slowing him down as his body collapsed in the cool body of water, sending waves rolling over the pond.
The body was shallow enough that even leaning forward on his hands and knees that it only lapped against his chest, leaving his shoulders, neck and head dry.
His panting breath rippled the water further as his head hung low. His reflection stared back at him, a tired youth with a gaunt face and sunken eyes. It was a nearly unrecognizable frightening visage.
He wondered if it’d been the desert that had disfigured him or if his self perception was false, thinking himself an attractive boy. His thoughts sunk further into the oasis the longer he peered into the reflection, only broken as the shadow of a figure looming over him, casting its own distorted reflection in the water.
Antoine bolted up to see the alien figure standing in front of him, the same hooded man singing in the Saintly Square.
“Drink deep these waters, Child of God, fill your empty spirit til it’s overflowing,” the man sung. A gentle, gloved hand caressed Antoine's temple, and without a second thought he submerged himself fully in the oasis.
The blaring alarm from the phone on the night stand drowned out the steady living rhythm of Antoine's building, and the sounds from the city outside. The initial whine hadn’t stirred the youth from his deep slumber, but eventually the fourth time the phone had gone off brought the boy to the waking world.
He jolted straight up, panting heavily as he gasped for air. His nearly naked body felt sticky to the touch, but further inspection by delicate fingers found his skin dry. In fact he felt dried out. Stumbling hands moved around the nightstand until he found his glass of water, and gulped down what remained.
He sat there in a stupor, trying to sift through the reality he was in now and the dream world he’d just left. Both felt so real, yet neither seemed right in comparison to the other. He couldn’t even remember why he’d laid down or when
Blinking, he let his gaze wander for a little longer until his attention was grabbed by the blinking red light from his phone.
It was an emergency alert. Several alerts. Each became exceedingly more frightening as warnings to stay in doors became warnings to avoid the epicenters of attacks, and finally one informing him of several explosions that’d rocked the city.
“What’s going on,” he whispered to himself, voice trembling slightly. He whispered silent prayers that whatever power might be, the Wick or whatever else, had kept his mother and sister safe.
His own safety wasn’t of huge importance, at least in his own mind, and as the nagging curiosity deep in his heart got the better of him he stood up finally, sloughing off the blanket to go peer out his window before finally going out onto the small porch on the side of the buildings slanted roof, despite his barely naked attire.
The streets below were not more chaotic than usual, but there was a somber atmosphere over the pedestrians as they either briskly walked to their own homes or looked around for some answer as to what was going on. From Antione’s vantage point he could see the smoke rising from several places all across the city, and the glow of fires illuminating the pillars rising upwards.
“’iilhi aleaziz”
