Of Dust and Dreams, Pt. 1
The well was dry. Then again, they all were. The dust had swallowed up every raindrop in a matter of years. There was no end to the search for a fresh sip and rarely one to be found. We were on the edge of nothing and it would not be long. Not long and at all.
Our home was practically a pile of stacked wood beams but it kept the dust out. And the scorpions. One had to be…