I see the world relax, slowly the dust clears things up. The contours, profiles, surfaces. It clears out what was and will never be. On the tip of the tongue there is the acid taste of carrion.
And finally, a desert that dry the mouth.
Sitting on a rock, staring at the fire crackling. The white wood as ivory is to become blackened ash. He took a stick and it moved with a stick in the fire, then began to draw concentric vague shapes in the sand. There remained no trace of them, nor witness.
He looked up. Top stars on a clear sky again. He sought the sun, but it was already gone. A breath of wind made the sand flow, like a blanket of silk. The rest was silence.
He coughed and straightened up her shawl over her head. He got up, stretched out his blanket and positioned the bag with the stuff to make a pillow, and lay down. He turned on his side, turned in the direction of the wind because the sand does not tap the face, and covered as possible.
In the silence of night I pray to God to save him.
By mid-afternoon the day after saw something on the sand. A bush withered, he said. Joined him after many steps. He stopped and stood for a bit 'to see the carcass. The wind was blowing from right to left and a piece of headgear tickled her lip.
must have been a fine example of a camel. The bones of the sternum and ribs sticking out like sharp stalks of pink. One last patch of fur hanging from a hip like an old flag. The skull had all his teeth. Who knows what was dead. He could not tell. Ventured the hypothesis that it was lost in the desert and died of thirst or hunger. But it was difficult for a camel to die that way.
It had nothing to say, no more thinking, so walked on.
came at the end of the world.
The sand flowed down like a waterfall of liquid gold, the washed sperm of a god mainland. In addition there was black. And far away, a bright white, but maybe it was just a star or a satellite. The wind blew in violent gusts, pushing back and pushing forward. The robes were struggling and they hit him with the whip. He took a few steps and stood a few feet from the edge of the abyss. He shielded his eyes with one hand and studied the nothing before. He turned and looked at the horizon behind. An ocean of sand still. Life had left that place for some time.
The sun on the right was stained red, the sky was not even a hint of cloud. He removed the bag from his shoulders and crouched on the ground. He took the bottle, stood up and drank it before looking at the black. Each sip was proof that he was still alive. Evidence that it was still made of flesh and bone. He thought it was amazing that everything in the world was a burden.
She finished her drink and poured the rest on the ground, then put the bottle in the bag. Spat and wiped his lips with the back of the hand. He took the bag and threw it over the edge into the void. He disappeared without a sound. None of the stuff contained in it would have served. He inhaled
resigned. He clenched his lips, opened his arms and walked until his feet could not find the ground.
In the desert now everything was really dead.
matter can really be forgotten? There is an oblivion that can disperse any glimmer of image, any content of concrete?
not really know if that point is a bright white satellite or a star.
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