mat, which sends his legs tossing over his back.
He cascades down the sheer cliffs, causing an
avalanche to follow behind him and consume him.
Lying, marooned in the khaki abyss like a half-sunken
ship, he opens his eyes to see a beam of light
extend from the evening blue-to-purple gradient of
the sky. The ray flowed like the river that all souls
pour into after leaving their bodies. The divine beam
illuminated a spot on the sand in front of him, just
seven inches in diameter. His encrusted eyes flutter
open to see, half-buried in the fine, crystalline rock,
a small cylinder emerge. Small black symbols, like
an ancient language of the gods read: “Blistex® Lip
Balm.” With his final trickle of energy, he reaches
forward, grasps the tube, removes the small, plastic
cap and applies it to his cracked lips, rubs them
together to spread the moisture to every flaking
corner, and whispers, “Thank you Lord,” then fades
away into the night, becoming one with the sand,
dissolving, soon to be a whisper in the wind.