The Man Lost in the Desert

Author’s Note: This is the twelth part of a series about Farren’s journey through a limbo world where everyone is trying to reach the peak of a mountain but have a rope tied to their ankle. Catch up by reading Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, and Part 11

The sun heated Farren’s back as he pulled his balls of rope across the sand. His feet had blistered a while back, and he was grateful they were finally numb to the ground’s heat. Farren licked his cracking and sunburnt lips, but his tongue held no moisture. They gritted against each other like two sheets of sandpaper.
He put his hand in front of the sun to block his eyes and to see what time it was. The sun was reaching its peak, and Farren felt the exhaustion kick in. Despite waking up every morning rehydrated and alive, he wasn’t making much progress. Farren had a small ball of rope in his hand and was slowly adding more as he walked. As he pulled the next yard in the warm rope slipped from his tired fingers.
Farren bent over to pick it up and as he did his knees went weak. His face hit the sand pushing dust into his already dry mouth. Using all the strength in his arms, he tried to push himself up, but his muscles wouldn’t respond. The heat pushed into his cheek scalding it, again. If his hair had been sweaty, then sand would have clung onto it, but Farren’s body ran out of moisture hours ago.

He took labored breaths for a few moments. The desert breeze blew sand on top of him, and he wondered if one day he would wake up buried in a dune. But that was his last thought before his lungs became too tired to function. His mind drifted off into the void.
In life, Farren wanted to face the black void with indifference. After all, it always disappeared in the morning. But when he was in it, having his consciousness stretched to infinity, it was the most painful thing in the world. It felt like it lasted forever. He’d been there before, and it still felt like it was an eternity. He couldn’t move, yet it pulled to the edged of space. It was a world where opposites were equivalent, and his ego couldn’t reconcile the information.
Then he woke up. Instead of coughing out water he spat out sand, but he was grateful that there was at least saliva in his mouth to spit out. The sun was low in the sky just peaking up above the horizon. Farren took advantage of the morning energy and dusted himself off quickly. Then he started to collect his rope and move across the desert.
The sand which started cool from the night breezes quickly warmed as the sun rose above the horizon. The air was dry and hot, and once he ran out of sweat, it merely felt like he was walking through an oven rather than having any cooling effect. Before the sun was a quarter of the way through the sky, Farren was miserable. Despite this, he continued to collect his rope.
His pile was growing, but it hadn’t been as fast as before. He’d estimated that it’d been at least two months since he and Gesa parted ways on the beach and he only had a ball and a half to show for it. He was painfully aware that he’d collected most of that rope as he trapped through the small beachside forest.
As soon as he hit the desert, his progress had been cut in half. He wasn’t able to work the whole day and died of heat exhaustion. At first, he didn’t know what was happening. He’d forgotten just how bad the black void was. But it quickly came back to him, although he didn’t remember why he’d died either.
Not being faced with darkness when he woke up helped him hold onto his sanity. Now he marched on refusing to give in and unable to settle in the desert.
As he traveled, he noticed a white speck in the distance. He continued discounting the image considering it a mirage in the glistening waves on the sand. However, as he approached he realized that it wasn’t disappearing or moving further away.
When the sun was an hour away from its peak, Farren made it to the white speck. It was a man passed out in the sand. His skin was darker than Farren’s, and his white linens were scuffed and tattered. A small layer of sand began to form over the man.
Farren was on the last reserves of energy he had for the day. He knew he would soon be joining this man face down on the sand. This man was also the only person Farren had seen in days.

Thinking about the massive amount of rope balls he had behind him he decided to build an enclosure to shade him and the man in their deaths. He halted progress and began to roll his balls around the man. Farren made a dome-like structure with a small gap to use as a door. As Farren reached to put his rope over the last bit of dome, his knees gave out, and he fell back on the ground. Farren was in the shade of some of the dome, but there was still a hole in the roof where sun leaked in.
At least I won’t have to worry about it raining through there, Farren thought as his eyes became heavy and he drifted into the void.
He pushed against the void this time. When he pushed the void pushed back. What seemed to have no barriers limited from how far he could grow. Some consciousness wondered in the void if it had an edge. But after an infinite amount of time, the void dissolved.
Farren sat up staring across the small rope dome he built at the man he’d found in the desert. The man looked at Farren then was more surprised by the shade he was sitting under.
“What is this?” He asked in confusion.
“Rope,” Farren replied as he looked at the shelter he’d built the day before. There were gaps between the balls of rope and small shafts of morning light jutted in. It wasn’t perfect but it was shade and Farren couldn’t believe he’d built it midday in the sun.
“Rope? Where did you get so much?” The man asked as envy seeped into his eyes.
“Well that’s a bit of a long story,” Farren said rubbing the back of his neck. “But it all started when I made the mistake of asking for the rope to be attached to the biggest rock they had.”
“That does sound like a mistake. Why didn’t you pick a normal sized one?”
“I’m still asking myself the same question.”
The two men talked the whole morning. Farren explained where he started and the boat ride he took to cross the sea, leaving out the part about how painful it was to leave Gesa. The man told Farren that his name was Botha and that he’d been traveling through the desert the whole time he’d been here.
“I used to think that the days were so short,” Botha said, “I’d drag my rock for about half the day then I’d pass out. I didn’t even realize I was dying. Since day one my days just ended in the middle and I’d face that expansion of darkness. You called it the black void. I thought I was in my own personal hell. You’re the first person I’ve met. I figured I wasn’t alone though since I’d come across a few rocks.”
“Then I found a pool of water in the middle of the desert,” Botha continued. “I rested there, and that’s when I realized that there were full days and I was just dying.” He chuckled a deep laugh. “I spent a few days there recovering. Then I started on again. But I’m not making much progress. I’m still dehydrating since I don’t have a way to hold the water I found. How did you last so much longer than me?”

“I suspect it’s because I’m merely picking up my rope while you’re pulling it along. Does it ever get stuck?”
“No, how could it? There’s just sand all over the place.”
Farren knew how big the desert was and it gave him an idea of how short Botha’s rope might be. If he turned around today, he could be free from pulling that rock in a few months. Maybe I can convince him to go back, Farren wondered. “How far away is the oasis you mentioned?”
“It’s been a few days,” the man said as he licked his parched lips. The rope shelter provided the men shade but the air was still dry, and they were sweating, albeit slower. “You think we could survive all day in this rope shelter?” Botha asked.
Farren rubbed the back of his hand thinking. “Maybe. But we’d be stuck unable to move. What if you take us back to the water?”
“I’d rather stay here than die in the heat every day,” he said not answering Farren’s question. “I left the oasis because I felt like I wasn’t making progress towards that mountain. I don’t even know which way it is. I’ve just been walking in the opposite direction of my rock. Then you say the mountains on the other side of some ocean, how am I supposed to get across that?” He shook his head in frustration. “On top of all this, you claim you’re from the direction that my rock is from. I wouldn’t expect my rock to be put on my path. I should be walking away from my rock like everyone else you’ve met.”
“You’re so close to your rock though. If it’s not getting stuck, then it’s probably just in the desert. You could be there in a short amount of time. And it’d save you so much time in the long run,” Farren pleaded.
“Long run?” The man scoffed, “I think you still need to get a grip on what eternity means.” The man made to crawl out of the small hole that Farren left to use as a door.
“Wait, just lead me to where the oasis is. Then you can do whatever you want. I want to do to find the mountain.” He was stalling for time. Maybe if I show him how much easier it is to move by picking up rope then he’d likely do it. He’d be free to reach the top of the mountain before everyone else. “I know you don’t want to backtrack on your rope. I’m not eager to be letting out slack to move away from my goal either. But it’s so hot and dry I need some water.”
Botha was on his hands and knees crawling for the door. He looked back across the small rope hut at Farren. Then Botha crawled the rest of the way out of the shelter.
“Come on then,” he said, “I think we’ve waited long enough that we might get to sleep tonight. It looks like it’s past midday.”
Farren scampered out the small door in excitement. He’d convinced Botha to give him more time. He was hopeful he’d be able to show Botha how much more freeing it was to pick up a rope instead of dragging a boulder along.