Desertcrawler

8

The day after his watch’s battery died, he realized that the compass, which he had been using in the watch’s stead, was faulty. The electromagnetic pulse which killed off the engine, had disabled the compass too. He came to know about it when the next morning he looked at his compass and saw the sun rising in the north. Rage and sadness engulfed him then and there. He shouted and cried about his hopeless life. There was no way he could meet his family now. The hell with his family! He couldn’t even get a drop of water anymore. He had lost all hope. He lay there on the sand, crying and cursing at his fate. But had the watch been faulty too then? Had he no hope of survival from the minute he stepped out of his cockpit? But how had the watch been running? Shouldn’t it be dead in the solar storm too since it was electrical? Maybe he had kept it off during that time, or maybe such small machinery didn't get affected much by solar storms. Why was he interested in his watch though? What the hell would he think about it now? He was going mad! Asking illogical questions to himself! Ahhh! His stomach! It hurt! It hurt from hunger! His throat was like sandpaper. Each time he swallowed his saliva, it felt like a thousand pins pierced the inner lining of his throat. He had to eat something, the hunger, he could not bear it. He needed something to eat. Something to eat! Eat! EAT!

He tore open his pockets and searched. There was nothing except for the photograph. Who the hell cares about a printed piece of paper? He crumpled it and put it in his mouth and started chewing. The little saliva he secreted moistened the paper gleefully. He swallowed it and felt it moving along his oesophagus satisfyingly. Ahh! That would do. That would do for now. He needed to move. Water. He needed water. What was that there on the horizon? Was that water? He moved with all his might towards the… towards the mirage.