Grit
Part 5 of Falling
A drabble
By The Nut
14 Jan 2004

He could feel it grinding, inching its way under his skin. In the dark, the sand became grit.

It haunted his clothing, drove its way into his mouth, his eyes, nostrils, he ground it between his teeth.

And it caked in his blood.

The night had fallen cold. The cold of a desert night, the flip side of a hot day. The only sound the eternal sigh of sand moving in the wind.

He didn’t feel the cold anymore. Heat had grown in him, the pain driving out the sweat, giving the grit something to cling to.

This was never going to end.

He was going to die here.

**********
FIN.