Riding from the ashes, I cough painfully.
My lungs rattle as I expel a plume of grey dust.
I shudder, weak and exhausted, beat down upon by the scarlet sun, as I struggle to stand. My knees and feet sink into the ash, mercilessly toppling me back into the ash. I discover that slithering on my belly like a pitiful snake or wriggling worm keeps me afloat in this ashy hell. I compact the ash beneath me as I move, slowly making progress towards a hazy structure spotted the distance. I wheeze with exertion, my body of skin and bones trembling. I collapse, my meager strength failing as I succumb to the powdered pain coating my lungs. Struggling to swallow, my throat turned to sandpaper, I writhe in agony.
My whole body aches and screams, begging for respite. I press on, scraping and clawing across the chalky terrain, drawing nearer to my prize. The ash is denser here, easily able to support my weight, yet spongy, making balance difficult. I stand, shuddering as my knees protest, shambling towards the door of this forgotten shack.
I place my hand upon the door, weathered smooth by the wind and ash, sparse dots of dark stain remaining on the lightly colored wood. I press forward, The door refuses to make way, mocking me with a low creak. I grit my teeth, throwing my insubstantial weight against the door in anger and frustration. The door takes delight in moving, throwing me to the floor on the other side of the threshold, laughing at me with a squeal.
I still, sprawled on my back, laying upon a faded rug. I turn my head, looking up at the ceiling; a single slope, simple and wooden meets my gaze. My eyelids betray me, obscuring my view as exhaustion take control. I fall into a deep, deep sleep.