Godspeed to the Fallen

As the dust and sand blew into her suntanned face and the wind tousled her sandy hair, she looked up into the whirlwind around her, wishing she could see the sky.  The sun glittered faintly through the grains of dust, speckles of light twinkling across her face, making patterns against her skin.  She knew the storm would last for hours as it had countless times before.1

She went on, mile after endless mile, each stretching into the next and all blurring together with the brown air all around her.  She could close her eyes and almost see her home with the meadows of flowers and emerald grass.  The scent of flowers in bloom, clean pure air, and the wonderful aroma of happiness filled her senses.  She opened her eyes half expecting to be in that meadow with deer and birds all around her, a small babbling brook making music in the early morning twilight.  She could almost feel the cool breeze blowing her hair around her face...a bit of sand flew into her eye.  She reached her hand up to wipe it away, noticing in passing her once delicate fingers, no longer ivory and smooth.  Once long and gorgeous nails were now chipped and torn; a close resemblance to her brown skin, it’s newly bronzed tan almost the same as everything else in this horrid place.  She started to cry.2

She could see the sun blazing down on her as the world, almost on fire, spread out before her.  The sand dunes went on as far as the eye could see, seemingly endless mile after mile, each one crushing any hope she had left of ever leaving this place.  Then, finally, the dust began to settle, finally she could breath again.  Dusting off her angelic wings, she took flight once more until the next storm blew in.3