The Salty Air

  I let my sweat drip down, torrents of droplets splashing down on the ground. The air tasted so, so salty. It was like being near the ocean, but without the birds circling overhead, nor the waves crashing into the shore. My muscles were sore from running. My tongue was swelling from panting in the heat. I musta been slowly getting dehydration, my vision was going a little fuzzed at the edges, like a drunk-man's impressionist painting of the world. The glaring sun wasn't helping none either.

   I started thinking back to those nights at sea. That everlasting blueness that just sank into your soul with each day. Back when it took so many weeks before Morgan finally got her sea-legs. Until she did find her legs, I'd find her either on the starboard deck, green in the face leaning on the railing, or below-decks clutching a book for dear life. At that point, I always wondered why she signed on in the first place, it seemed like she was just making herself miserable and she was getting in the way at times. Once she learned to walk at sea, well, it was as if she'd been born at sea, born a sailor.  She'd be up in the crow's nest, checking the map against our surroundings. Nimbly she would climb down the ropes back to deck, swifter than any galley-rat on the seven seas.

   Man, I miss Morgan...I miss her and I miss the sea, I'm so sick of this never ending desert! Maybe I've only been running in circles, that cactus looks like one I saw earlier. I always thought mirages were just jokes, men seeing things that weren't there in the baking sun, but that looks a hell of a lot like my old ship rising through the haze in the horizon. What a cruel trick for my brain to play, especially as I run out of energy next to be that very same cactus...ahh, no this one has two arms, not three, my mistake.....