The Last Native

by Stevesesy

            I have no name. I have no place to call my home. This desert is where I belong. It is not my home, it is simply where I belong. In this empty, barren desert. My only friends are the sun and the sand. The sun which watches over me, he is quiet but he has never failed to rise. I owe my life to the sand, for without it I would simply fall into nothingness that is below this world. I am the last of a noble race. I am the mighty brave of a great clan that built all I see, well, they did not build what I see. They built what I saw long ago and they will build what I hope to see one last time in my life. Now, all I see is sand.

            Time, he is truly my enemy. Time has been cruel to my people and it cast its jealous wrath upon our land. Fields turn to dust, building crumble, people leave but one day they will return. I am all alone. Only a few monuments still exist above the supporting sand. These few monuments that give testament to my once mighty race. The Sphinx which guards our secrets with its mighty claws. The pyramids which house my ancestors in their eternal slumber. Buried with them are our greatest treasures and it is their duty to guard them. Sadly, time will swallow them, too. Then time will swallow me. Time’s hunger is ravenous and his stomach is bottomless. He takes the weak and he takes the strong. He takes everything.

            People call me a nomad, a lost warrior with no place. They do not seek me out but if they do speak to me, I will listen. I will offer them help. People often pass through this desert, people with fanciful and bizarre dreams. Why they come here, I do not know. Maybe they are searching for a hidden meaning, hiding under a grain of sand. Maybe they are searching for a home, a new place to live and grow but nothing can grow in the absence of water. Whatever they are searching for they will not find it here, for the only things here are the sun, the sand, and me. They come suddenly but leave just as quickly. Always in passing. Wasting no more time than is necessary. They simply find a way to leave and they take it.

            A few odd people stick out in particular. There once was a man. He was a small man with wild facial hair that seemed to sweep back on his face. He had strange and grand dreams. He built a huge statue that could reach up and touch the clouds something he called a “dungeon”, then he climbed inside his precious “dungeon” and the two became one. This bizarre “dungeon man” wandered the desert for a short while but failing to see what was before him he became stuck between two trees. The man left the “dungeon”, grief and sadness enveloped his face as he left his creation. He left without looking back while his creation silently returned to the sand over time. Nothing is left of it.

            He was not the only one to visit my lands, their was a group of children that followed him. They all had the greatest gleam of hope about them. They were determined on their quest and nothing could stop them. I knew they were special, they were different from almost anyone I had ever met. I felt as though I owed them something, I felt that I needed to thank them for some great favor they were going to do for me. I gave them a key I found and they spoke with the “dungeon man” and for a short while they traveled together with the mighty tower of sand but when the statue became stuck they left him in a yellow boat that traveled underwater instead of above it. On this sinking ship they sailed out onto the open sea to lands unknown on their quest. Odd people but they had something amazing about them. Some amazing, unseen force of destiny moved them across my lands and past them.  Many people have come but they have all left me now, left me alone in this desert.

            I wasn’t always alone. I had a family. I had a beautiful woman that was there for me in my life. I had a young son, my pride and joy. I had a home. I was with my people, the once proud race that domesticated and tamed the desert. They brought forth fruit and vegetables from nothing but the sand and brought water to the driest and farthest reaches of the desert. It was a paradise. I would go fishing with my father on the Great Ocean and hunt Bookas with my youthful friends. We were young and fearless. I had everything, yet every good thing can not last and everything has left me. The oasis that supported our lives dried up suddenly with no warning. Our fields went dry and so did our lips. Water, which was once considered an abundance, was now a commodity. Their was nothing left for my people.

            The life I had is gone, the wind has carried it far away from here. Everything tries to leave this place, even the sand tries to run but the poor grains grow weary quick and rest upon each other in great mounds. There is only one thing that does not wish to leave this place, that one thing is me.

            My people have left this land, they have gone elsewhere. They have hidden themselves in the clouds, high above. The peaceful clouds, that is where they live now. It is not our land, though. It is no one’s land. The clouds belong to no man, woman, or tribe. They are meant to be free and to move as they fell fit to move. Using them is not right and one day the clouds they live on may one day disappear and take my people with them. They feel as though their life is safe but they live merely on the whim of the clouds and clouds are very fickle things. They move without reason, they anger easily, they grow large and sad and their tears soak the lands. The clouds have left me, too. They no longer weep over this lands, they fear it is simply a lost cause and no tears should be shed for something that is lost.

            I am tied to this land with shackles made of out of my own linage. It is my inheritance and I can not leave the only thing I have left. Every grain of sand is mine. Generation after generation has been burdened with watching this arid plain. Now it is my burden alone, and I have no one to pass it to. My son, my only son, is gone. He has left with the others. They have all left. They left nothing behind but me and this desert. They pleaded with me to come, they begged and argued. They told me there is nothing here for them, they told there is nothing here for me. They cursed this and called it worthless. I can not leave this place they call worthless. It has worth, it means so much to me. It is a wasteland now, but one day an oasis will spring forth from nothing and life will return. My people will return. My life will return. My son will return!

            They will come and greet me. They will apologize for their hasty actions. They will be saddened at how the years have treated me. Tears will roll down their cheeks at the sight of my face. For time has left its mark on it and so has the pain of losing everything. I will tell them there is no need to cry. They shall have no remorse for they will return to a paradise. A paradise I have watch over for many years. They failed to see past the present. Thinking selfishly and acting accordingly. I have seen the future and that is why I keep watch on these lands, I guard them for my son and his future. I know his future is bright, brighter than mine and it even shines brighter than the sun that hangs overhead! I am willing to sacrifice part of my life to ensure that his life will be fruitful and complete. Until then, I wait.

            I sit and watch my friend the sun. I watch him move slowly and then I watch his friend follow him after he grows weary of his daily trek and falls behind the dunes. This friend of my friend, is she my friend? The moon, is she my friend? I hope she is but she does not seem to notice me she seems to be in love with the sun for she follows him in vain attempts to catch his eye. These two star-crossed lovers, doomed to never meet, they amuse me. The sand, my other friend. It brings me gifts, it brings me trees. They shield me from the sun’s gaze. Though he is protective, his constant vigilance tires me. The trees also bring me fruit. Nuts and berries, the most succulent things I have ever tasted. The trees hold them out for me as little gifts and I thank them often for their kindness. They are shy but they accept my gratitude. Without these gifts my life would be much harder.

            Even though the desert seems empty now it was not always so. Great herds of Bookas once roamed the hills. They were a proud animal and a worthy hunt. They are all but gone now, either migrated far from here or died trying to escape the heat. I still see one or two, they look weak and thirsty. Their eyes never meet mine, they just look off through the horizon and continue their wandering trek. The Great Crested Bookas are no longer prisoners here. They are free to leave, and they take their freedom.

            I am not truly lonely, for to be truly lonely one must have no one in their past, they must have no one in their present, and they must have no future. I have a past, I have memories which keep me together in times of need. Sweet jewels of friendship which I keep tightly inside of my heart for I fear that if I let them go for just an instant they may leave me forever. My present is dull but what happens now is not always as important as what will happen. My future, I am unsure of my future but it is not truly my future that I show concern for, it is the future of my culture.

            Emptiness, space, nothingness; all are the words to describe this land. It is true that it is empty but they fail to see that even nothingness has a future. It is not truly lost and I am not truly lonely. The world changes, mountains turn to gentle rolling hills, oceans dry up and turn into deserts, and this desert will turn into a new home. Not my new home, my people’s new home. They will leave their false homes in the sky above, in the land they call Dalaam. They will return to the Desert of Scaraba. The desert will turn to a true paradise, a land that would even make our ancestors jealous with its unparalleled beauty. The clouds will swell with joy at the prospect of this land being born anew. They will weep tears of pure joy upon the new home for my people.

            The desert is the place I belong. I watch over it for my people. I wait for my people to return. I wait fo the day that I will se my son one last time. In this Desert of Scaraba, I wait.