At Golden Hour
I slowly open my eyes. Ghoulish, dark shapes with twisted limbs and spiny leaves dot the vast expanse to the distant mountains. Joshua trees, I think.
Who am I? How did I get here? I have no clue. I also have no phone, map, or tools to help me. Not even a bottle of water to drink.
The warm, red glow of golden hour says the sun will soon leave, and selfishly take its warmth and light with it. My shorts, t-shirt, and sandals will provide little protection from the coming cold.
I swallow the panic rising in my throat, and scan the horizon in the fading light. No sign of civilization, no buildings, power lines, roads or cars. No life anywhere, save the army of Joshua trees, stoic and still, watching me from every side.
There’s no rescue in sight. Only endless desert, approaching darkness, impending doom. No one is coming to save me. I’m on my own.
There is only one thing to do: have hope. Hope this is a fiction created by my unconscious mind. Hope this is only a bad dream. Because if this is real, you will never hear this story I want to tell.
