Greg
Still but shifting, the dunes stretched across the horizon, curving upward to take cover from the great wind that buffets it eternally. A low hum emanates from deep under the sand, ancient voices calling out to beings long departed and times long forgotten. Side-winding snakes and skittering scorpions disturb the rolling canvas on which Heaven paints her most personal thoughts. She slashes violently upon it, for her art requires the subjugation of Earth itself to bear out in front of its celestial maker. She is an insatiable sculptor, working endlessly under Helios’ blindingly oppressive stare and Selene’s cutting embrace.
The man walked along the inner peak of a long dune. Dust and sand billowed off his travel worn clothes, bleached from the sun. As he took another step, he wobbled backwards, his foot slid down a stretch of fine golden sand. In a panic he lurched his weight forward and stumbled onto ground. A dust cloud forced itself over the crest of the dune and engulfed the man in a flurry of debris. His nose and mouth were exposed from the fall and were invaded by the rampaging particulates. The wind pummeled his side with furious precision. He rushed for sure footing to lift his head to escape the choking cloud. He fumbled for the light canteen tightly fastened on his old hide belt. Relief was stringently rationed from the canteen and sang to him as it flowed out. He thought about singing back, feeling so joyous to have been graced with such refreshment.
He lavished Greg with praise for the well-timed relief, for containing it so well, and for even serving with such a beautiful song. Greg was the canteen of course. He was made of stainless steel and featured a standard screw top lid that was both secure, and much easier to open than the man’s old canteen. Greg was an extremely reliable companion, and was always full of hope, joy, and most of all, relief. Except for, the man supposed, when Greg found himself entirely empty. But he did not dwell on such a possibility. Surely Greg would never betray me like that, he assured himself.
His last canteen was nowhere near as reliable as Greg. It had a cork lid, which always seemed impossible to remove. It was a much more traditional style and was made of leather. He felt as though the leather tainted the taste of his relief. It didn’t even sing as he poured from it. It merely remained silent and expressionless. That’s why he was so glad to have Greg.
He strode confidently over the dunes until the wide expanse of shimmering sand gave way to dry cracked sandstone. Towers of rock sculpted by Heaven’s cuts into a monument to persistence. The walls were smooth to the touch and flowed into winding corridors through the jagged landscape. The canyon whistled long notes to him as he walked along its shaded floor. There were only distant birds that occasionally added to the canyon’s tune. He took his feelings of lightness as a sense of strength, as a natural reaction to overcoming a bit of nature’s ferocity. He did not feel the lack of burden upon his hip.
Compared to the dunes that he had just traversed; the canyon was much more pleasant. His battered body was temporarily safe from the ever-present wind. He looked at the top of the canyon, where wind careened through and reverberated through the air around him. There was no more glaring sun beating down and no more violent sand.
A sudden rumble shook the walls of abused rock that housed him. Great boulders fell from high upon the canyon walls and crashed down with the force of meteorites from the cosmos. The ground under which they landed found itself pluming into the air, swirling, and dissipating. The man made himself small against a lone dried out husk of wood that was once a great tree in long since consumed forest. He balled himself up, encasing Greg in his core, since he was more important for the man’s survival than any extraneous limb. Another rock landed nearby and sent up dust that and coated the man’s left leg.
The earth stopped its sudden tantrum, and an all-encompassing stillness enveloped the desert. The man brought himself to his feet, the reallocation of his weight scraping pebbles across the ground that echoed through the waiting canyon. He left the protective old boreal husk behind and continued through the canyon on the path laid out for him. The canyon opened into a perch overlooking a great basin of sand.
The drumbeat began as the man stood upon the perch. It began subtle and low, easily mistaken for pounding sands blowing over the canyon’s open roof. As it continued, it picked up intensity and speed. Its steady beat continued without any sense of hesitation or uncertainty. It was becoming overwhelming, pounding idle sand off the rocks hammering into the man’s eardrums. Even Greg was perturbed by this anticipation, as he rattled with each concussive blow.
The basin became a black hole, sucking the sand from its top layer into a hidden unknowable abyss which rejects the inquisitive glances of man. It burst forth from this unseen pit, reaching skyward and seemingly propelling itself towards this goal. Beginning as a speck in the center of the basin, and great pyramid rose forth until it dwarfed the surrounding landscape. Its slanted features of painstakingly cut sandstone blocks were met with the sharp contrast of the flowing canyon walls.
The man, met with the fantastical scene which he could not fully interpret, reached for Greg to provide him with a much-needed sense of security. Greg, however, was as struck by the scene as the man. No relief flowed from Greg’s open lid. The man tilted his head back to a more aggressive angle. Greg remained obstinate, and no relief found its way outside. This was the betrayal that the man feared but never believed would come to pass. His cheeks, already red from the sun, reddened further with frustration and hurt. In a passionate fit of rage, he hurled Greg off the perch and into the basin. Greg struck the base of the great pyramid with a crack and was once again still.
The man stepped from the perch and approached the great pyramid that now dominated his path. Facing him was an opening containing lit torches which offered him an invitation of refuge for some unspoken price. Stepping over his fallen comrade, the man accepted the torch’s’ offer, and clambered into the musty pyramid with a tired heave. The cool damp air soothed his weariness and refreshed his dried skin. I wish Greg could have seen this, the man thought. But he pushed that thought away, as his life was now in turmoil from Greg’s traitorous betrayal. He laid down for a moment to rest. I will find a new Greg, he whispered to the pyramid. The pyramid did not respond.