Connection

His thick combat boots walked across the desert soil of Darwin, and he used a hand to block out the seering sun.
The soil gave off an unnerving presence, mainly because of its blood-red colour.
The dirt and soil blew up into the air in huge gusts, making the explorer's eyes hurt even more.

Dr. William Backrid covered his eyes as he staggered through this red world.
He wasn't even an explorer - He was a doctor who stupidly raised his hand up to participate in a project in the North of Australia.

It was a four-man mission to begin with; Four strangers from across Victoria who were thrown in a pickup truck to study the towns of Queensland and the Northern Territory.
But now, Backrid was the only one still alive.

Jack Dickens died after accidentally pissing off some crocodiles in Brisbane.
Jack Dickens, 1973 - 2022.

Less than twenty-four hours later, the group was going through the humid rainforests of Cairns on the eighth day of exploration, and Professor Harvey Idropozza fell prey to the venom of a hissing rough-scaled snake.
Prof. Harvey Idropozza, 1968 - 2022.

And on the seventeenth day, as Dr. Backrid and his only surviving companion, Ella Punk, were traveling through the northernmost points of Queensland, Ella bit the dust due to a lack of healthy drinking water.
Ella Punk, 1979 - 2022.

So now, on the thirty-second day, Backrid was walking through the desolate deserts of Darwin, thirsty, hungry, and tired as hell.
He hadn't slept in hours, knowing he had to complete the mission.
His water bottle was running down fast, and Backrid knew he had to save those last few drops.

'When you arrive in Alice Springs, your mission will be complete'.
That's what Backrid and Dickens and Idropozza and Punk were promised when they were dropped off at Dubbo, New South Wales.

"Why did I sign up for this project?" Backrid gasped for air as he spoke. "This is so stupid."

The red dust, billowing up in red clouds, blew over Backrid's blood-rushed, red face.
Red, red, red.

"I'm going to die," Backrid's eyes were bloodshot and stung from the wafting, red dust. "If I do die, I want God to bless my corpse."

He was going to die - There was nothing to it.
Dr. William Backrid was going to die.

Backrid wasn't scared of death, he was simply scared of where he'd go after he died.
He didn't know where he was going to end up afterward.
It was either Heaven or Hell - That's what his local Catholic church had taught him.
But what if neither existed?
What if he went to neither?

"Help me," His throat felt like it was as dry as the red desert his combat boots were walking through. "God help me."

He let out a scream of pain.

A scream that made his ears hurt.
A scream that made his throat sting.
A scream that made his eyes burn with tears.
A scream that declared him dead.

Backrid fell to the red desert soil and died.
Dr. William Backrid, 1971 - 2022.


A boy - An Aboriginal - heard the sound of screaming.

It was a man's scream - A scream that sounded as if it was his last.
The last scream this man would ever mutter.

Snuffing out his campfire with a charred log, the boy hurried to his feet and went to look for the man who he'd heard.
And that's when he saw him.

Lying in the red desert soil was Dr. William Backrid's dead body.

The boy didn't say anything. Instead, he prayed.
Not to the god Backrid had screamed too moments before.
The Aboriginal spoke to his god.
The one he believed in.

His prayer was heart-felt and the Aboriginal kept asking for his god to bless Backrid's body.

"Bless him deeply as I feel a connection towards this man."