A Sleight of Hand

She slides back down, her reddened face rubbing the rock. Closer. They’re getting closer. But will it matter? Will she even be alive when they find her?

The desert is winning. The heat, the dryness, the emptiness as far as you can see are sucking the last of her essence deep into the sand. Now she only sees visions, a mirage of the man in camo becoming Mark, tall and handsome as ever. He’s holding an icy bottle of water, so icy in fact, it drips with sweat.

She wants tears now. Wants to cry remembering watching the car he was driving explode into a million pieces, the impact of the blast burning her eyebrows, knocking her over. Falling. Falling. Falling…

Footsteps reel her back. The mirage has a voice. Mark’s voice. “Hello, Elizabeth. I must say, you’re pretty good. It took us a little longer to find you than we thought.”

He takes another step closer and then drops to a knee. With a smile, more malicious than kind, he unscrews the bottle’s cap and take a long draw. “Hell of a time picking up that tracker in this damn desert heat.” He feigns surprise. “Oh, you didn’t know about the tracker? Why’d you think I let you keep the backpack?”

Elizabeth reaches out, but Mark pulls the water back.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)