By Josh Mckenna
He would kneel in the sand. Slowly, his shadow would shrink inwards.
The desert heaved. The ascending sun warmed the peaks of the hills of sand. The man walked over them as they shifted and ebbed towards a distant shore.
“When I come home—” he said. His dry throat caught on the wind.
The amber sun burned and flickered behind gusts on the horizon.
Around him, the desert shifted again; the sun glanced against his brow. From one sloping peak, he saw hope shimmer. The man whimpered as he stumbled towards it. “When I come home,” he said, “I’ll love you.”
“He who procrastinates is like a man stuck in quicksand. Or: Don’t put off till tomorrow what you should be doing today.” Perfect little story of those of us who eternally lose out because all we can say is “Someday this will be.” But, of course, someday never comes. Loved it.
Much appreciated, Bobby.