"There is no idea so good that it can't become horrible by applying it to everything."

  -Said, not written, the Socks

  A bay in the desert

  "I won't run, not again. Not even death can make me," Herschel said to the harsh wasteland that wasn't listening.

  Taking a knee, he stopped himself from running to the mirage of water. In these sand flats, nothing was ever what it seemed and he'd drunk the last of his rationed water days ago.

  It was half a year now since he walked away from Zig-Zig's sewer. Compared to the Khmur, the previous months spent skulking through Zenon and the Reeptee mountains felt like a nice Sunday stroll.

  He'd always thought he'd miss the comforts of prison life. However not even he, a man whose whole life was all about words, had the vocabulary to describe this misery. Because the desert was stealing the only possession he valued. His mind.

  "At least I haven't seen that black tower for a while."

  And to be fair, without help we would've never gotten this far, so the world isn't all bad, his gratitude added.

  Herschel sneered at the thought of help, he'd never sneered at anything in his life, but his charity was spent. It was becoming harder to tell if it was madness or sanity doing his multi-thoughting. He now accepted the desert was trying to lure him to his death.

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  "Maybe crossing the Khmur isn't possible? But I'm still free!"

  A whispered answer startled him,"Does freedom matter?"

  "Yes, I think?" Tears of confusion would've streamed down his face, if his body could've spared the liquid.

  "Keep moving east."

  "Am I talking to myself?"

  "You are now."

  You'll have to stop doing that, his sanity thought as he wiped his tangled, long hair out of his eyes. This isn't just inner-dialogue. It's delirium.

  "Why east?" he asked, ignoring his own advice.

  "You should know!"

  Reason and reasons were both slipping through his fingers like this endless white sand.

  "Maybe I'll just lay down for a while? What's the worst that could happen?"

  "You'll die," the whisper answered.

  Dragging his feet with every laboured step, Herschel kept moving. His graceful, light-footed stride was gone. Ever since the mountains faded into the western horizon behind him, the mirages had gotten more convincing. This one looked like a bay. The sunlight glittering off the water was completely realistic, and so tempting.

  "A bay in the desert! Do you really think I'm going to fall for that? Again!" His scorched lips cracked as he smiled, but he felt nothing.

  As he got closer, he spotted a river flowing into the bay, and beyond it, grass, fantastically green and beautiful. But instead of quickening, his pace slowed. Hope was something he couldn't afford. He knew that once he reached out to touch it, everything wonderful would disappear. He could almost hear the wasteland smirking at him.

  A few steps from the water, he came to a full stop. "If this is another mirage, I'm done. You hear? You win!"

  He took the last few steps and waded into a river of lukewarm water. Still not daring to hope, he knelt slowly as if it would vanish with any sudden move. Soon, he was floating face first and drinking with heavy gulps. Barely bothering to come up for air.

  The desert was finally behind him.

  Enjoy the drink, because these might be the last moments of your life! his body screamed.

  None of that mattered to Herschel, he was beyond the desert's reach. But the effort of pulling himself onto the green bank was too much. His vision blurred and his arms collapsed. Lower body still submerged, he smelled the luxurious grass as two slender figures strolled towards him.