The sands shimmered like gold as the Sun -- which hung high in the noon-time sky -- cast his fiery rays down upon their surface. It was barren, except for the sun and the occasional breeze which stirred some of the sands that had all the while rested peacefully still … deadly still.
Empty.
Alone.
Except for one thing. The only thing that mattered to the Desert’s insensate heart. And so it was, right in the heart of the Desert, where the Sun shone the fiercest and the rain came the least, which a single rose was. Once a vibrant red, though now a muted pink, almost white in it’s paleness from the constant battering of the harsh Sun which never relented. Never relented, until the night came, that is, when he is chased out of the sky by his sister, the Moon.
Even the Moon, with her soft and caressing touch, could not ward off all the heat her brother had brought, though gave as much hope, as much rest, to the flower that she could possibly give in hopes that it would live, would survive … even though she knew that she was doomed to fail.
The will to survive … ahh, yes, it was strong in the flower, the faded rose of the desert … Though was it enough to live this life of solitude, where all around her was just the hot sands that scorched her roots? She had to though, you see, for it was her torture … her pain which she had to endure. Even if she gave up, she would be made to continue on and on and on and on and on . . .
Isolation.
Silence.
Pain.
The faded rose was unsure how much longer she could last, that she could last alone, by herself where all around her there was heat … that terrible heat and golden sands.
It was then, in her ponderings that she realized it; she could survive, and get out, if she had the will to … the want to get out of this place of miseries and sorrows. To regain her true colors in a place where it was never hot, never cold, where there was shade and warmth and water and animals, where she would never have to be alone again.