BLOOD RUNS COLD

. . .Max shut his mind to everything but the trackless waste ahead of him. The sun and the black flies were unbearable and there was no place to hide.

There were thorn trees, but their branches had been laid to waste by the elephants. Max was almost totally blinded by the sun. His fair skin was burned raw, and he was constantly dizzy, the direct rays of sun was terribly agonizing, he was feeling as though his face was being rubbed with a Sand paper. Each time he took a breath of air, his lungs seemed to explode. He was no longer walking, he was stumbling, putting one foot infront of the other, mindlessly lurching ahead.

One afternoon, with the midday sun beating down on him, he slumped to the ground, too tired to take another step. He tried to get up, but the effort was too great. It would be so easy just to lie in the middle of that deadly ‘Namib’ desert forever and never have to take another step.

And then, he heard a strange noise above his head. Vultures were encircling him, waiting for him to close his eyes to start their feast. ‘You have two choices,’ Max told himself. You can go on or you can stay here and die. . .and die. . . and die. The words echoed endlessly in his head. ‘You can take one more step,’ Max thought. ‘Come on, Max dear. One more step. One more step. One more step. . .

. . .the immense agony, harsh condition, chasing death, the hyena, painted dogs, black mamba… a thousand way to die and his grit, optimism, determination and moreover the dream. Is he gonna make it? Or he is literally a feast cake for overhead vultures.

…a story of a man who had only one dream. Well, not exactly, he was Ninteen, so a boy wanted to be rich… Would you like me to share this story..?

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About Shabab Khan

A Journalist, Philanthropist; Author of 'The Magician', 'Go!', 'Brutal'. Being a passionate writer, I am into Journalism and writing columns, news stories, articles for top media house. Twitter: @khantastix khansworld@rediffmail.com
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