We have been on this journey for an eternity, though I have yet to see the moon rise or the sun fall.
The sun. The sun. That endless, sweltering furnace which roasts me into a withered pelt.
My comrade, both paler and more exposed than I, walks under the same radiations yet seems largely unaffected. She has yet to notice my slowed gait, my crusted lips and arid tongue.
I have stopped in protest many times, and yet she calls me onward each time, chirping with an eerie cheeriness in direct contrast of our dismal surroundings. She maintains a faultless gaiety as we climb up and down and left and right and onward and onward and onward.
My feet have begun to ache. My hair feels as though it will spark and combust into a portrait of burnt epithelium and pulp. My tongue is ash.
At last, I slam my feet in dissent and sit upon the sizzling earth. I will be unmoved without provision, without at least a paltry sip of water.
My companion’s guise, at last, shifts. At first coaxing and cool, her voice shifts into the unsure crunch of guilt and frustration. Her form grows larger in her frenzy, and I feel her blessedly begin to block out the sun. She bellows indiscernible commands, but I turn my cheek and refuse to be moved.
Then. Then she shifts again, her disposition outperforming the sun with hot rage. She grabs me by the collar, yanking my face so close to hers that I feel pungent breath floating on my own nostrils.
“Lucy,” she grunts between gritted teeth, “We have to keep moving. I’m out of water, the sun is going to set soon, and I don’t have any cell reception. If you don’t move we’ll be up shit creek without a paddle. I love you, but you know I can’t carry you—so please move your ass!”
Somehow, my tongue achieves a new level of desiccation. The moisture within my veins boils up and steams me into complete aridity. I am an urn, sucked of all fluids and carrying the powdery remains of my form.
All this time. All this time she had had water, but shared none. She carried supplies for both of us, yet granted me nothing. She ignored my protests. Flitted around me with false encouragements and promises. Buzzed under the heat of the day and shifted all blame onto my poached constitution.
I cannot handle this audacity. Something in my fried brain breaks, and I feel it bulge and burst out of me like some festered cyst. I release a howling deep from within my brittle bones; screaming against the injustice of it all. I scream and scream and scream and again refuse to be shaken. I will not move without receiving my just deserts.
And desert me she finally does. I am left, shrieking under the sweltering weight of endless sunlight. My shrieks quiet into moans and finally whimpers as the sun ultimately gives way to the coolness of moonbeam. I curl up onto the scorched but soothing earth, and I give myself to sleep’s embrace.
I awaken in the dead of night, the world alive with the scraping fiddle-feet of bugs and unknown predators. I yelp and jerk away as I notice a trail of these little beasties making a home underneath me. I feel my pupils dilate, my heart kicking into my deepest, primal form. Everything begins to sharpen, my desiccated being alive with fight.
Just as I am ready to leap into action, I hear a familiar call. My comrade, returned for me in the dark! My sharp wits begin to dull, a haze clouding my senses—do I fight, flee, or freeze and wait for her?
She continues to call to me, her voice bouncing off flora and fauna alike. “Lucy, I’m so sorry! Lucy, please come back to me! I’m here for you!” I hear other, unfamiliar voices join her call. I lock into freeze, my joints both frigid and brittle with dehydration. “Lucy! Lucy, we want you safe! We’re here for you!”
I hear the crunch of twigs and leaves under their boots. I see the dancing halos of flashlights searching and yearning for one thing—for my safety. My comrade left me baking in sunbeams, but returned for me with the coolness of a guiding light. The forgiveness floods through me. It comes quickly and easily, flooding me with love and gratitude. At last, I snap into motion. I chase after the sound of her voice. Running. Running. Voices bouncing, but louder.
At last I find her. And I leap into the arms of my nurturing comrade. The one who calls me “Lucy,” “sweet girl,” and yet still honors my most primal form: “dog.”