Who doesn't like oneshots? [ON HOLD]

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The hot wind howled above the lifeless terrain, so strong that some of the plants that had adapted to it got ripped out from the ground. Sun was ruthlessly burning the land to crisp, as if the heat wasn't enough. No cloud could be seen on a cloudless sky, no hope for any sanctuary, salvation, life. Dead land spread on miles and miles, no drop of water could be seen in this murderous desert. Just sands and sands as far as a human being could see, sands that took away all hope, all will to live.

This desert hated even the thought of life. This desert had no pity towards those who had to die in it. And then those bodies sank under layers and layers of sand, and it was all silent again. The death remained victorious.

Always.

But those shadows that were staggering across the desert, keeping their heads low and breathing through fabric over their faces didn't wish to give in so easily. Three fugures, weak, half-dead, dying of thirst and fatique, were still somehow crawling through the deadly terrain, nothing more than toys in the hands of fate.

Four people walked through the sand,
Four people alive.
One was lost when the drinks had to end,
Three people survived.

The person that was going first had a bandana on their head, the colours of the fabric long gone, taken away by the greedy sunlight. They were breathing heavily, their clothes drenched in sweat. Green eyes, that had once been shining in happiness, now were dull and almost grey, life slipping away from them. A nest of dirty and dusty black hair was kept under the bandana, once truly wonderful curls cut short.

The second person moved slowlier. They carried almost all the supplies, and the sun was rougher on them than on anybody else. Though this person tried so hard to cover every inch of their skin, to defend it from the golden killer star, but it didn't work out. Their skin was burnt, painfully red, and every second this person breathed heavier and heavier, bending closer to the ground under the weight of a small, battered tent and some dry food.

The sun is rougher on redheads than on anybody else.

The last person seemed to be a bit more lively than the others. Their blonde hair didn't attract much sunlight, even reflecting some of it, so it was easier for this person. They also dragged some stuff like weapons and their sparkling blue eyes stared at the first two people in worry.

There used to be the forth one. The forth person with long black hair and beard, but he was lost a couple of days ago. He was just far too tired to walk further, or so he claimed. He never told anybody that without him, they would have more water, more chance to escape. The secret went with him under the murderous sand.

Jesse stopped, breathing heavily, as soon as she heard somebody drop on the sand. She would've instantly turned around, but the heat took her wonderful reflexes away. She could only stare in front of her, wondering how much time it would have to take before they lost somebody else.

She was pitiful to look at. Dark circles under her dull eyes, sand sticking to her skin and scratching it. The wounds bled, and the bleeding attracted those few bugs that were able to survive under the sunlight. The hero was long gone, turned into a mere survivor. It was terrible to say, but when Ivor refused to walk, she was the first to leave him behind.

She might've been breathing so far, but her soul was as dry as the land around them.

"Jesse!" Lukas screamed, falling on his knees next to Petra, who was lying on the burning sand, her eyes closed. His voice was a bit muffled due to the fabric in front of his face, the fabric that prevented sand from blocking his nose. "Jesse, come on, we need your help!"

The girl walked to her friends, staring at them indifferently. The redhead didn't move apart from breathing so weakly that it wasn't even noticable. Lukas grabbed a flask of hot water from his backpack and unscrewed the lid, pressing it to the mouth of his friend.