The Devil’s Trumpet.docxVIP

The Devil’s Trumpet‘This desert is hot, and dry-’ thought the man as he began to walk dazedly. His trail of footprints stretched beyond the horizon. ‘-but the breeze is cold’ he concluded.He didn’t know how he got here, or even where here was. His mind crossed back and forth between two different scenarios now, but they were only fragments of memories. In one, there were loud noises- crashes and bangs. In the other there was a heavy pressure on his chest, and he could smell dirt and rot. But neither was conclusive enough for him to consider. This aggravated the man. Without knowing a distinct past, he didn’t know how he could be sure that he existed at all. He was very concerned that he could not be certain, and worried this was just the beginning.He knew it was because of the flowers, but he didn’t know they would have this effect on him- he was too hungry then.As his mind began to wander further, the man wondered if someone would soon miss him, or if they already did. He also wondered where he might end up, but then he realized that only time could reveal these things- and he hoped it would.But, it did still worry him that something so simple, like his own name, could elude him now. He could feel the syllables in his head, like his memories they were still there, but he couldn’t grasp the tools that could make sense of them.The man kept walking.Occasionally, he grabbed the canteen from the bag slung around his shoulder, and took a sip. There wasn’t much left in it, so he let only a few drops hit his tongue at a time, but still, his mouth remained dry and his face flushed. He tried not to calculate how long the water would last. He knew he wouldn’t be able to if he tried.Every few hundred feet the man stopped to look back. He wanted to turn back, often too, but when he thought something could be behind him, he quickly turned around, and continued. He knew if he stopped for too long, it would catch up to him, and he would be dead for sure.He tried not to wonder.The