The house was hundreds of miles from anywhere. It’s dry cracked walls seemed as though they had been beaten by the harsh sandy wind for hundreds of years.
Sand surrounded the house for as far as the eye could see and clumps of tall dried grass stood out, dotted around the dry ground like lost beards.
The deep light blue sky above could have been a tropical ocean, consuming every drop of sweat from me with evaporation.
I took another step towards the house. My dry, hot, blistering feet sinking into the ground as it was quicksand.
I was hoping there was water here. I had taken all the water from my canvas bottle and even my tongue felt as dry as the ground below me.
My eyes were now like bee stings and my face was beaten and red.
As I got closer to the house I could see that there were tiles fallen from the roof. Another drowning footstep in the sand and I could see that the windows were smashed.
There was no one sat outside the building. Was anyone inside?
I took yet another grueling step forwards and as I steeped over a clump of dry grass my desperation for water and exhaustion had me crawling on my knees. The hot sand closer to my burnt face.
I finally got to the steps of the house and tried to shout to whoever may have been inside “Hello”. My shout was but a tired painful whisper.
I crawled up the steps and the door was as weak as I was and fell flat into the house with a single touch of my sore hand.
The house had been empty seemingly for several years. I crawled to the kitchen and desperatly pulled myself up to standing by the sink. I grappled with the tap and twisted it but all that came out was a tiny bit of sand…