In the past few days, the sun has produced a landscape of burnt, unyielding trees, here on earth. There is no sign of life. No birdsong. No dragonfly drones. No vivid flowers. As evening haze begins to tangle around branches, Shelby’s vision begins to wane, and he stumbles to the ground. In the first minutes of his stillness, he begins to sweat furiously. He smears his bare arms with dry earth, to cool them, and to help protect them from burning. As he does, he notices his skin has become translucent, and his bones are making a callous attempt to perforate his skin. He knows it’s a sign that his body is succumbing to this earth. He stands up, and continues to tread the rough terrain, in his wild search for water.
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a little bird tweets 