The Desert's Mouse

The hiker gazed up, meeting the quizzical eyes of a golden desert mouse.

It was noon...the sun at its peak.

He tried to smile, but his parched lips refused to cooperate.

His tired eyes, perpetually on the move, shifted behind the mouse to its small, wet footprints, stark against the smooth curve of yellow desert sand.

A raspy gasp, crackling like a snake's hiss, escaped his dry, cracked lips. His once-protective hat had long been buried by shifting sands; his golden hair was now bleached white. His skin was burned a deep red, veins coursing under his eyes, which were sunken and exhausted. The moment his bloodshot eyes caught sight of the moist tracks, his body collapsed in relief. Crawling for miles through blistering heat and against unforgiving winds, he had reached the edge of what he believed to be salvation. Wet footprints meant water—his sluggish mind had quickly processed this, and with a final sigh, he collapsed onto the soft sand, letting his eyelids flutter closed.

The mouse, unsure, stared at the hiker. It reached out to softly nudge his face, its tiny voice keening, before it scampered back up the dune, disappearing into its hole.

Nightfall.

The hiker’s eyes opened slowly, heavy and reluctant. As his memory caught up, he recalled the mouse and the damp footprints. His eyes widened with newfound urgency, and he rose to his knees.

With pain and effort, the hiker clawed his way up the dune toward the oasis.

At the top, his eyes locked onto the shimmering relief below, but his exhausted body faltered, struggling to carry him forward.

He scrambled down the dune, his body desperate for water, his hands and knees fighting for purchase in the shifting sand. In a tumble of limbs, he fell, hurtling toward the oasis pool below.

Just inches from the water, he collapsed in a final, weary heap. His last breath stirred the still water, sending ripples across its surface.

Months later.

The men in fluorescent suits stood in awe, a mixture of fear and contemplation in their eyes as they observed the bleached skeleton.

The largest of the men muttered, confirming the identity of the bones, it was Zacherelmon. The tallest nodded in agreement. The smallest of the group hesitated, wondering if they should bury the remains.

The largest shook his head, noticing that the skull had become the mouse's home. It would be cruel to disturb it. Let it be.

The smallest, though reluctant, simply shrugged, still staring at the skeleton.

The mouse, undeterred, stood on the weathered skull as the men climbed back into their machine. With a roar, the machine ascended, disappearing into the distance.

The mouse remained, perched on the hiker's skull, gazing out at the endless expanse where the sand met the sky. The sun sank low, casting its final golden rays over the vast Sahara, a quiet tribute to the hiker’s journey.

The mouse stood alone, contemplating its smallness in the face of such vastness. It took in the harsh, breathtaking beauty of the desert, its mind drifting in the winds of the endless horizon.

A gust of night wind swirled around the mouse, sending a chill through its tiny body. Flicking its tail, the mouse darted back into the skull's eye socket, retreating to its nest.

Dusk settled once more.