The sand was blowing across the dunes, with a low howl overtaking the air. A figure, dressed in all gray, wrapped from head to toe in rag-tag clothes, worn from travel, was struggling across the sand, their feet sinking into the ground as they tried to heave out with each step. The sun was beating down, probably leaving them hot as an oyster in a pan of white wine, and with another step, they lost their balance.

One leg over another, they tumbled down the side of the dune, their cloak unraveling from around their shoulders to leave bare, blistered arms out in the boiling sun. The person was left in nothing more than lightweight, loose pants, and a skin-tight, sleeveless shirt. All gray. A bag had been hidden under the cloak, obviously heavy and clunky, and likely the culprit in throwing off their balance.

The person sank to their knees and stared up at the blistering sun. Curly, dark hair, and dark eyes, with skin that was so burnt and dark, their ethnicity origins were more of a question mark than a fact. Skin was peeling across their nose and cheeks, and they pulled off a chunk of it to leave it on the ground.

They licked their chapped lips, cleared their throat full of sand, and started to speak, their voice harsh and grating.

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“I fell in love with the water.

I watched the summer rains pour down,

and I lifted my head,

and I said I’ll love you forever.

Man has left me.

Woman has forgotten me.

But I fell in love with the summer rain.”

Their voice, though harsh, was clear, ringing out across the world, and far on the horizon, thunder cracked. A smile touched their lips and they sat back on their haunches, turned their head up to the sun, and smiled even wider.

“I failed,” they said, their voice colored with so much fondness. “Ha. I failed.”