I woke up with sand in my mouth. Again. This desert was relentless, a cruel reminder that my sense of direction was about as reliable as a drunk homing pigeon. I spat out the grit, feeling like a cat coughing up a hairball. The sun was already glaring down at me, as if personally offended by my existence.
"Good morning to you too, you blazing ball of misery," I muttered, wiping the sand off my face. My clothes were sticking to me, caked in a lovely mix of sweat and sand. If this kept up, I'd turn into a human sandcastle by noon.
My stomach growled, a low, menacing rumble. Food. I needed food. But in a desert, finding food was like looking for a snowman in hell. I squinted at the horizon, hoping for some sign of life. Nothing but dunes. Great.
I trudged forward, the sand shifting under my feet like it was trying to trip me. Each step felt like a mile. "Just keep walking, Eileen," I told myself. "Maybe you'll find a mirage with a buffet."
