The silver-glowing red sands stretched endlessly before me, a vast and indifferent sea of dust that shifted under every step. My boots sank into the dunes, leaving crisp imprints. I tried to move silently but those footprints wouldn’t allow such a thing. It wasn’t the sound of my feet as I crossed the sand that caused the commotion…
The footprints left by each step I took began to whisper. Exhaled secrets I had long buried, things I had thought were forgotten by the universe began to emerge:
remember when you called your third-grade teacher ‘mom’ in front of the whole class?
I heard wavering quietly from someplace behind me.
I stopped walking, but the whispering continued…
that time you tripped in front of your high school crush and tried to turn it into a dance move?
do the stumble shuffle!
another footprint whispered, wheezing, barely containing its laughter.
The desert was supposed to be empty–to be quiet–instead, the sands echoed with a chorus of my own humiliations, murmuring them with glee.
I tried stepping lightly, barely letting my feet graze the surface.
It didn’t matter.
Even the faintest impressions found their voices.
what about that weird phase when you tried to convince people you were british for a whole summer?
I groaned, dragging my hands across the gas mask. “I was twelve. Let it go.”
But the desert would not let it go.
I sank into the sand, forced to endure the relentless murmurs of my own footprints, gleefully resurrecting every long-buried embarrassment. Overhead, the moons continued their quiet conspiracy, still whispering insults about the size of my ass.
That was when the wind, which up until now had been a mere background presence, decided it was time to contribute. It released a long, dramatic sigh, speaking at full volume as it swept past me.
“Oh,” it muttered, dripping with condescension. “We’re stopping now, are we? That’s… a choice.”
I stood, gritting my teeth and kept moving.
The wind huffed again: “Left? Huh. Okay. If that’s what you think is best.”
I stopped abruptly, looking around as if I could find the source of the commentary. “What is your problem?” I demanded.
The wind swirled lazily, lifting a wave of sand that immediately worked its way into my clothes, my boots, my ears. “Oh, nothing,” it replied innocently. “You just have such interesting decision-making skills. It’s fascinating, really.”
I swore under my breath and turned in the opposite direction just to spite it.
The wind practically howled with judgment.
“Really? That’s what you’re going with? Wow.”
The footprints, never content to be left out, piped up again.
hey, remember when you confidently waved at someone you thought you knew, but it turned out to be a total stranger? then, instead of playing it off, you doubled down and pretended you meant to wave at literally everyone?
I clenched my fists and picked up the pace. The footprints and the wind followed.
or that time you thought someone was waving at you, so you waved back, but they were actually waving at the person behind you?
oh, that was so painful to watch.
The wind whistled through the dunes, smugly: “You do get yourself into the most interesting situations.”
I ignored both the wind and my own treacherous footprints and pressed on. Ahead, the dunes rippled under the moonlight, their crimson sands shifting like restless waves. The sky loomed vast and cracked above me, the twin moons judging my rear…I knew I would find someplace quiet to sleep ahead---somewhere free from judgmental wind and gossiping ground.
Or at least, I hoped to.
I trudged forward, determined to outpace my own past.
Behind me, the desert whispered,
oh man. he really thinks he’s getting out of this.
The wind snickered. “Bless his heart.”
As I crested the dune, I spotted something that hadn’t been there before: a man---or at least something approximating one---standing beside a desk in the middle of the desert. His suit was crisp, perfectly tailored, but his body inside it was all wrong, as if someone had stuffed a sack of raw meat into business attire and hoped for the best. His skin had the damp, pallid sheen of something recently thawed, stretched too tightly over his face, pulling his lips into an unnatural, greasy grin. His eyes were mismatched---one too large, bulging and watery, the other sunken deep into his skull like it had tried to escape but didn’t quite make it. A faint, wet clicking sound accompanied every blink. He adjusted his tie with fingers that were just a little too long, the knuckles swollen and glossy, and beamed at me with the unsettling confidence of a man who had always been there, waiting.
“Ah! Perfect timing!” he chirped. “I was just about to give up on you. You have got to see these listings.”
“What,”---I managed.---“the actual hell.”
He produced a stack of glowing papers from thin air. “Now, I know what you’re thinking---where does one find a proper home in the red sands? Worry not! I have two incredible options, each uniquely suited to your…” He paused, glancing at me up and down. “…circumstances.”
He snapped his fingers, and behind him, a colossal, battered leather boot materialized, its opening yawning like a cavern.
“Behold! The Giant’s Shoe! Spacious, surprisingly well-ventilated, and---get this---fully furnished! Downside? Once a week, the giant it belongs to comes stomping around, demanding to know who’s been sneaking into his footwear. Minor inconvenience, really.”
I frowned. “What happens if he finds me?”
The agent waved a dismissive hand. “You know giants---grumbles, threats, existential terror. He’s never actually caught a tenant yet.”
I was about to question further when a yurt popped into existence beside the shoe. The fabric rippled as if breathing.
“Now this---this one is art,” the agent sighed. “A Sentient Yurt! Cozy, self-warming, and emotionally aware.”
The yurt shifted, eyeing me suspiciously. “How many other places have you looked at?” it demanded in a gruff, deep voice with a Trans-Atlantic accent.
I hesitated. “Uh, well, I mean, technically, I---”
The yurt gasped. “You looked at the shoe first? And now you expect me to just welcome you? Oh no, no, no. I will not be your second choice.”
“I didn’t---”
The flap slammed and zipped
The agent sighed. “He’s so dramatic. You sure you don’t want the shoe?”
I pinched the mask where it sat on the bridge of my nose. “I’ll find my own place.”
The wind huffed. “Oh, now he’s picky.”
The agent, unfazed, gestured toward the horizon, where a picturesque house stood. “Well, there’s always this option. Classic, charming, reasonable commute,” his slimy words seemed to wiggle in the wind.
I shook my head, muttering, “Fine. That one will be fine,” and began walking toward it.
I walked toward it for an hour. It never got any closer. The horizon seemed to stretch, elongating itself in a cruel joke at my expense. I picked up my pace. Still, it remained just as distant, a mirage of purpose in this endless, indifferent wasteland. At some point, the second moon shifted in the sky, casting long, unfamiliar shadows across the cracked earth, and I realized I had been walking for far longer than I intended. The air smelled of static and old bones. My feet ached. My hope withered.
I gave up and found a cave instead---rather convenient, actually. A lucky break, or so I thought. Then I heard the skittering. The sound of dozens of little feet, too large to belong to anything comforting. From the darkness emerged creatures that defied reason: cryptid things resembling discarded wigs with human faces, their expressions frozen in manic glee. Each one stood in a pair of oversized clown shoes that squeaked with every movement, a horror show of synthetic hair and squealing rubber. The smell hit me next---burnt rubber and rotting fruit, pungent and cloying, a scent so thick it seeped into my pores and wrapped itself around me like a second skin.
They attacked. I defended myself with the only weapons at my disposal---rocks, frantic kicking, and pure, undiluted exhaustion. The battle raged longer than it had any right to, a ridiculous war waged against creatures that should not exist. Eventually, they scattered into the shadows, leaving behind only their foul odor and the eerie echo of their laughter. I collapsed onto the cave floor, breathless and victorious, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I slept.
When I woke, the world was silent. I sat up, bones protesting, and pulled out my laptop. I opened it without thinking, more out of habit than hope, and let my fingers dance across the keyboard. Hours passed in a haze of typing before realization struck me like a cold slap: my battery had not drained a single percentage. Even stranger, a WiFi signal called HotSpotOrifice blinked strong and steady in the corner of the screen. I froze. My hands hovered over the keys. I had no idea where the signal was coming from. No idea what I might have connected to. And yet, the words kept pouring from me, as though something unseen wanted me to write...while I was at it, I decided to make some much needed changes to the website also.