The sun morphs into a fiery-red ball burning up the air.
A distant oasis shimmers with water. I crawl towards the water-hole; scoop up a thirst-quenching mouthful of mirage sand.
Eyes closed I await the inevitable.
Whilst asleep a desert storm turns on heaven’s tap; moistness soothes my boiled, blistering skin. I wallow in the rapidly filling hole that’ll hold enough water until I’m found…
…cooked to perfection, but not burnt to a crisp.