Wisps of sand rise as each foot beats upon the earth. The sand circles the leg, twisting, winding, swirling. Slowly it creeps upwards, entangling itself in the air, breathing becomes an excruciating labor. The feet cannot stop for the sand, so as the feet continue walking, so continues the sand.

The air is cool. The sun has not risen yet. In the eastern sky a golden coin is rising over the mountaintop. The walker glances nervously at the sun. With the sun comes heat, comes death. The sun chokes life and the walker quickens his pace.

One drop of water. Followed by another. Like a torrential waterfall after a rainsoaked spring they make their way through the cracks slipping further and further down. They run through every crevice making their way eternally earthward. Eventually they hit the ground causing the sharp sizzling sound of burning flesh. The walker continues to sweat. The lifewater escapes his body; he knows too much is going free. He needs to contain the water but there is nothing he can do.

He is a lone figure in a boundless desert. Every way he looks leads to the same place, oblivion. So he walks. He walks because he has to do something; if he sat he would think about dying. He does not die; he builds. How can he build in a desert?

The sand clings to his shirt just as it would in the construction yard. His boots that he used for getting over beams and moving equipment have proved effective on the unforgiving ground. He maintains his composure, his control, his commanding presence. If one of his crew appeared over the next rise he would be ready to give them orders.

The sun is a relentless foe. Instead of striking out and allowing a fair fight it remains elusive. The crew leader just wants to meet the sun in the ring. That way he could get a few swings at it. Either way he knows he will die, but he would rather die fighting the sun than just being killed by it. But the sun will not fight. Why should it? The sun has never fought; it just toys and plays with its victims. It watches them slowly crumble under its fiery weight. With its tendrils it penetrates the body and tears it part from the inside. The unbearable heat beats upon the body allowing no respite.

He continues to walk. Every step requires more strength. It embarrasses him. Why is it so difficult to walk? After everything he has built, as strong as he is, he should not have to work to walk. His control begins to break down. He is furious at the sun. He screams at it, shaking his fists, threatening it. The sun is humiliating him, making such simple tasks as breathing and walking a chore. He creates buildings; he creates homes. He does not have trouble walking, until now. He challenges the sun to fight him. He continues walking, staring up at the sky. If the sun lets down his guard for just one instant he will lunge, he will strangle the sun.

So he walks, staring at the sky, staring. He forgets the ground, he forgets the sand, he forgets he lives. He forgets the ground. He falls. A rock gives out from beneath him and in an infinite instant he has fallen forever. He can no longer get up. Now he beats the ground in frustration, he is completely helpless for the first time since he was an infant. He is not supposed to be helpless; he is the leader. While others are helpless he is the one that sees the path, that has the blueprints. But there are not blueprints for the desert. The wind moves the desert; its shape constantly changes.

He is lying there until he dies. He is lying there until the sun drains him of life and he is only a husk of a man. His once muscular arms are weak and flimsy. His breathing becomes shorter and the blinding light of the sun begins to dim. Feebly he reaches around him but finds only rocks. Grasping the rocks he pulls them close to his chest. Then, slowly, he moves his hands over the rocks, feeling their texture, scraping his hands on them. He smiles. He picks up one rock and with much effort places it back down a little further away. Then he places some more rocks near that one. He builds upwards. Upon those rocks the places more and more, making a heavenward tower. He runs out of rocks and he closes his eyes.

The sun screams; the sun scorches the earth, but the tower stands.