The Daily Dime: A House on the Lake

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The desert sun beat down. There was no life for miles, though there were scant signs of life once present. The desert traveler had learned many miles ago to quit turning his head. His scorched neck could no longer abide the twisting, and his addled senses could no longer abide the turning. The traveler's eyes had almost become useless vestiges. Reminders of what it was like to see.

The traveler had to stop to rest his legs. He fell to his knees and heard loud snapping, an obvious indication that he was very much in need of water. The hulking traveler bent over, resting his hands on his knees. He hated not being able to put anything at rest in the hot sand without igniting. After a brief stop, he stood straight and tried to stretch his back, but everything about him had become so dried and stiff that he was afraid he'd cut himself open.

Resigning to the stiffness, he trudged on.

After hours of silent walking, he began to see the sun dried and heat bleached corpses of his brothers. Friends and family, all of them. The traveler briefly regretted having no water to spare for tears for his brothers. He did stop at one body and gingerly lifted the hand out of the sand. He held it and looked into the dried sockets where eyes should have been.

“I'm so sorry. We feared drought, and it took us through a desert. Soon I'll be dead like you.” The traveler held the hand, and started to choke on what should have been tears, but came out as dry coughs and sporadic heaves. Dropping the hand, he kept walking. The dogs of despair and hope raged in him. He tried to run, but couldn't tell if he was running or if it was sun insanity. The dogs raged deep within his chest, causing his body to wrack with spasms and sobs.

The traveler fell to the ground and yelled at the desert floor. This seemed to quiet the dogs fighting in his heart. Despair satiated with the realization that he would die. Hope satisfied that he would die only after fighting. The traveler stayed on all fours for a moment while the violence of the dogs subsided. Then he cursed himself for falling into the sand. It was a struggle to stand, and more than his feet had been burned. His hands, which he'd been careful to protect, were burned, as were his forearms, knees, shins. Or rather, the equivalents thereof.

After much effort, he was able to ignore the pain that coursed through his entire body and trudge through what he was sure were to be his final steps.

His steps were much slower now. Much more pained. The traveler couldn't even lift his head enough to see what was in front of him. He was so convinced of his coming death that he didn't notice when he was up to his knees in water.

He stopped and thought.

“It's got to be an illusion,” he said. Not wanting to miss a chance at water, something he very badly needed, he scooped his hand into the puddle and brought it to his mouth. He felt water in his mouth, and felt it around his knees.

“If this is a hallucination,” he said, “it's as good of a place to die as any.” He set himself heavy in the pool and pushed, trying to push his feet into the sand when he noticed a body partially submerged a few feet in front of him. He leaned forward to get a better look.

It was an elderly woman. Gaunt and pale. He shook his head out of remorse for the woman and proceeded to go about his business.

A hand and a shriek reached up and grabbed him at the shoulder, and the woman scrambled to him. He scooped her up into his massive limbs. She was much closer to death than he was, though it was a very close race.

“Are you a tree?” she asked. “You feel like a tree. There used to be trees here.” He nodded.

“I am a tree.” The woman seemed to relax against his bark.

“At least I die in the arms of a tree,” she said. He nodded. She looked back into his eyes and spoke, “I'm not really this old. I'm young as far as lakes and trees are concerned.” He nodded.

“Me too.”

“I only look old because I'm dying. All my sprites, nymphs and spirits left. I'm all alone.” The tree watched the lake's face droop, mouth bent into a frown. “You look like you would have been a handsome tree. Trees don't travel often. If you want, you can have what's left of my water.” The tree nodded.

“I would thank you for your gift and put it to good use.” He continued to hold the lake as he dug his roots deep into what was left of the lake bed, trying not to be too eager to drink up what was left of her water. She smiled up at him as he dug. “You know, you look like you would have been a beautiful lake.” She chuckled slightly.

“You should have seen me. This land used to be a forest, you know. But there was a fire, and all my spirits left out of fear of the fire. But being a lake, I'm tied to the land. The trees all died from the fire or from exposure. A few tried to leave, but they were too damaged by the smoke and the heat.

“After that, I became a desert and started to die.” The tree nodded.

“I passed my dead brothers a few miles ago. They left our home in the swamp because some animal spirits told us a plague was coming to the swamp and we needed to leave. They left in a hurry, but I stayed as long as I could. We didn't know that there was a desert at our borders.”

“At least we don't die alone,” said the lake.

“At least we don't die alone,” said the tree.

“And,” said the lake, “we can hope the rain comes by. She might be able to save us. I think she's obligated, especially since I used to be a forest.” The tree nodded hesitantly.

The pair stared in each other's eyes for a short while before sleep overtook both of them.

A short time later, the desert was covered in clouds, and a light thunderstorm touched the surface of that rock for the first time in a decade.

With each drop, the lake looked younger.