Walking through the desert called my mind

Creativity has deserted what is left of my brain, leaving an arid place with few hills. There’s a mountain in the distance with no trees. I slog across waves of light beige desolation.

Beige — the Meh of color.

Visiting the Sahara Desert, Morocco – The Long Weekender

Cotton candy clouds float past on silver platters, refusing to share one drop of creation’s water.  No tumble-reads, no sar-cactus seem to grow in this place.

My journey is stopped by a sand dune the size of a pyramid.   I try to turn write, but a monolith inexplicably forms in front of that path. 

I have only one option:  Go back the same way I came, or take what’s left.

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Oh…wait…that’s two options. 

More like NO options, if you consider the Indian dressed like Elvis manning a stand in the middle of nowhere that’s selling energy drinks. 

With all those sequins sparkling in the desert sun, he’s hard to miss.

“How,” he asks, as I try to walk past him.

“How what?”  I demand.

“How does a general fly?”

“With his armies,” I sneer.  “That joke is older than my grandma.”

“Would you like to buy…”

As he rattles on about his homemade coconut-tomato, avocado-raisin and strawberry-onion energy drinks, I notice they’re all beige.

“I don’t want to buy anything,” I reply.  “I just want to get out of this place.”

A black feather grows out the top of his head as he says, “Life is not all about you.”

Not knowing quite how to describe this sight, I say, “You’re a strange bird.”

“My raven is mad,” he chuckles.  “My drinks are to die for.”

I zone in on a dark spot at the bottom of an otherwise translucent beige liquid inside a clear bottle and reply, “I’m not ready to die.”

“You’ve found my locust-persimmon vitamin drink.  You do know that most civilizations eat insects.”

“They are welcome to ingest my share of bugs.”  Surprisingly — or not — I feel no sense of thirst.  “Seriously, is there a way out of this place?”

He points further up — down the road and says,  “That’s the exit.”

Just what I need, a floating door. 

“There’s a slight…problem,” I sigh, pointing toward said cloud holding my exit open.

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“See the sand dune pyramid?” He asks.  “All you have to do is climb 1000 feet to the top and enter the door.”

“So then… I only have to walk through another 20 miles of desert with no water, and climb a steep grade to the top of a sand dune so that I can catch a ride with a cloud?” I ask.

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“There is another way,” he says, holding his prized locust-persimmon vitamin surprise.  “Drink this, and eat the surprise inside.”

I stare into eyes filled with humor and reply, “I’m dead either way.”

Beige, beige and more beige… what should I do?  Drink the poison or die in the nothingness?

“Is there a 3rd choice?” I ask.  He frowns, a deep dark scowl covering his face.  “There IS a third choice?”

He looks up at the cloud and it trembles like a dog frightened of his master, and Indian Elvis points to the road.

I continue to slog through a prison of beige, wondering if I’m destined to live this colorless existence until I die.  Or…perhaps I’m dead and this is Karma?

No.  Karma would be a lot more interesting.

Karma - [articles: knowledge]

Writer’s block sucks.