Last to Leave

      Deserts everywhere can be deceivingly beautiful but ruthless; hostile, hot, arid and dangerous for those daring enough to venture onto its treacherous, barren and dusty flat lands. By day the heat is relentless; swirling dust devils skip and dance over the heated sand and waves of rising heat distort the arid landscape with hallucinations of standing water. For those not familiar with desert living and survival, or are inexperienced in desert travel, it can be deadly. Food and water are scarce; as evidenced by the white bones of those who failed scattered over its sandy expanse.

      At night the cooler air offers welcome relief to nocturnal hunters who find the daytime heat oppressive and short on prey. Day or night, the desert is hostile; not a place to venture into without careful planning and extreme vigilance.

       Tonight will be the first time to leave the safety of his house and it makes him very tense. He had seen others perish quickly, violently; leaving him alone and uneasy. Night is coming and the sun will soon disappear; cactus shadows are already beginning to lengthen. Their dark gray silhouettes appear, like tall silent referees, waiting patiently to give the victor of the night a well deserved trophy of survival. 

       The darkness of night will ignite his natural instincts for survival; his alertness will be at its highest point for the subtle night time sounds of deadly threats; a test of endurance will soon be played out in this harsh, arid and bleak sandy stadium. Time passes quickly.

      The remaining splinter of red desert sun descends rapidly below the horizon leaving long shadows which are quickly absorbed into the gloom; last vestiges of daylight pass and the air and earth begin to cool. The house becomes dark, but with a somber yellow glow from a few windows, then it, too, becomes another odd shape in the desert night. All too soon now his resilience will be tested. It’s time to hunt.

       He was born in this sun-bleached, weather beaten house he called home, as were generations of his family. They had all been raised and lived comfortably within its warm safe walls; struggling nocturnal survivors in the high country desert.

      He was the youngest and he led a solitary life in the safety of the old house. None of his family remained. All had left long ago, when they grew older, for a better place and many perished trying. He refused to give up; refused to give in to his loneliness. He knew no other place except this home where he was raised and he felt secure.

      Time in the desert had no meaning; only night and day mattered. He would eat when he was hungry; sleep when tired. His life was very complex in its simplicity.

      He had eaten the last of the food. There was no more in the house. Hunger was now a new threat forcing him outside into his first treacherous night-time hunt; time when all desert living things came to life, in the desert’s cool air, to also hunt for food.

      It was now time to leave the safety of the darkened home. He crept near the opened door and stared into the darkness. There was a weak slice of moon washing everything in a ghostly color of blue gray. The shadows fell over the sand creating odd shapes; his eyes shifted rapidly from side to side searching for danger. He felt a deep dread but it soon gave way to his determination to feed his hunger.

      He cautiously slipped from the safety of the house, raced across the wide porch then slowly down the steps and quickly over the sand into the shadows.

      He positioned himself quietly in the darkness beneath a tall saguaro cactus. His movements stilled, so as not to betray his presence, he waited. He paused to listen then breathed again. He could hear nothing but the deserts’ cool breeze when it whispered over the sand and through the dry weeds brushing them over the ground.

      He lay quietly; motionless and listened. The hours passed with only the desert sand as his companion. Daylight would soon arrive. The relentless ache from hunger grew but he would wait until the last bit of shadow succumbed to daylight.

      Despite his torment and failure to find badly needed food, he knew it was time to return. Cautiously he scurried back to the porch; his home and safety. It was still early but the desert heat would be unbearable as soon as the sun rose.

      He stood in the open doorway, turned and looked back nervously. The horizon was tinted with pink revealing the early dawn. His first night of hunting in search of food was not only unsuccessful it would also be his last. His final memory was a loud bang; his last sensation a fleeting numbness.

       “Hey mom,” the young boy yelled from the doorway, “I just killed another one of those damn scorpions.”