A short story about a twisted and strange death where a man dies in the desert from exposure.
The heat blistered his lips. His arms and legs were red and raw. His back had developed thick oozing boils which had grown infected from flies picking at them.
He had been walking towards the sun for five days. His body ached, his arms drooped to his side as he pushed his legs forward.
A few steps ahead of him stood a two-foot rock. He collapsed to the ground. His face felt the sting from the hot dirt. Desert dust billowed as he breathed, the flies buzzed loudly in his ear.
He lifted his head crawling his way to the rock once there he wrapped his hands around its searing body and clung to it as though any minute he’d be swept away by the desert.
In every direction, the dirt stretched for miles with the blue sky touching the horizon. He rested his cheek against the rock, if it scorched him he didn’t notice. Sweat trickled down parts of his body he couldn’t itch because his energy had evaporated. The vultures had spotted him. They circled above waiting for their meal.