Desert Wanderer
International Christisan School, Salome Eason, Fiction: Group 2
T
he lone figure silently made his way down to the abandoned shack. His camel moved
slowly alongside him, and he pushed the camel away. As a thick coat of dust settled onto
his messy hair, he turned to silence his groaning camel. He wearily collapsed when they
reached the shack.
The shack was in bad shape. But the man, a fugitive who wasn’t exactly in perfect shape
either, decided it would do. The stolen goods were heavy in his pocket, along with a few matches.
His back ached, his throat was dry, and his camel stunk. As the sun went down, he cried, “Why is
everything against me?” His camel gently stuck her wet nose under his arm. Her bright, innocent
eyes glittered in the dim light. As the cruel night, the weather became unbearably cold. His kind-
hearted camel always offered warmth and comfort. But the man had taken enough. His robber’s
heart was not affectionate. He knew no love in the world and hated kindness. He despised his
camel for this very reason. He shouted at the camel and beat her up when he felt frustrated. He
treated her like dirt.
After he did that, he stared out at the cruel, swirling sands of the Gobi Desert. “I hate you and
all that is in you!” He bellowed.
After many weeks with only drops of water and roasted lizards, the camel began to cough up
blood and a sickly yellow substance. The man shouted at her again and again for making a mess.
After he did so, he always felt proud. But he always after he felt proud, he felt guilty.
One dark and frosty night, the camel gave out a long sigh and took a deep breath. Her eyes
burned with hatred as she looked at him, unlike the camel that used to offer help. “You don’t care
anything about me,” her eyes whispered, “You are a man whose life is worthless.” Then she gave out
a hard yowl and took her last breath. At first, the man did not know what to say or do. Then, there
on the cold sand, he fell on his knees and wept bitterly. But in his heart, he knew he should change.
Delighted, the man cried out in triumph, “There!” as he cut out crude blocks of the camel’s
flesh with a rock. He sighed sadly as he looked at the blocks of meat. Ever since the death of his
camel, he had changed into a better man. Still a fugitive, still a robber, he wasn’t perfect. But he
was better. He roasted the meat on a small fire he managed to make with the matches he had left.
When the sun finally poked out, breaking the long, miserable night, he decided to start
walking. Because of dehydration, he collapsed many hours later. But, soon he began to hear a
noise. Was it honking? No, it couldn’t be. But it was. In the far distance, a city lay before him. As
did a new life.
