Arriving at the edge of the dessert, the rumbly old taxi breaks hard and comes to a stop. The driver turns around to face me, “Here. I will not drive you any longer. You will have to walk from here”.

I stare out of the car onto the seemingly never-ending ocean of sand. The dunes rising like gigantic, immobile waves into the infinite dessert as far as I can see. I hand the driver the last of my cash and exit the car. The driver steps out as well and grabs my backpack from the roof. The pack contain a large water sack, some food, and a tarp, to make shelter. The driver hands me the bag, “I cannot recommend you try to cross this dessert. It is very dangerous, and you do not have enough water”. I take the pack and throw it on my back, making sure to close all the straps, fixing the backpack in place. I look at the driver who seems almost angry that I am going against his advice. “I know”, I tell him. I put on my hat, to block out the scorching sun and start walking into the sand. I hear the drivers voice again, but this time he sounds more worried than angry. “Good luck, sir. You will need it.” A few seconds later I hear the old engine start back up, and the taxi speeds away.

I quickly reach the top of the first sand dune and start making my way deeper into the dessert. Looking out from my vantage point on the dune top I can see much further into the dessert than I could from where the taxi parked, but I still can’t see my destination. I consult my compass and adjust my course. According to my calculations I should be able to make the entire trip in three to four days, depending on the weather and my ability to hold the course.

After a few hours of walking, I already start to feel the strain of walking through sand. My legs are burning from pushing through the easily shifting surface. My arms are burning from the merciless sun, hammering down on the open dessert. Luckily, the sun is nearing the horizon on my right, making the effect much less prominent than earlier. In an hour the light will start to fade and in two it will be completely dark. I need to find a place to set up camp before that. Trying to do anything in the dessert after nightfall would be foolish. The darkness out here is absolute, and I haven’t brought any sources of light. I will walk from sunup and until sundown, and sleep through the dark. I can drink from my water sack without stopping, and I can eat while I walk. I will take breaks for other necessary objectives only sparsely. Every minute I spend not walking is an extra minute I have to spend in this sandy hell-like environment.

As the light starts to fade, I stop and take off my backpack. I find the tarp and secure it to the pack. The shelter will only be just high enough that I can sleep under it, but it will have to do. I eat very little and check my water level. I haven’t had as much water today as I had estimated. I’m assuming that will even out over the next few days. Or worse, I will start drinking more than estimated, to a point where I run out before arriving. That would be fatal out here. No one is coming to find me. No one would even know where to go to look for me. I sleep in my clothes, as I have nothing else. It is hard to sleep well, under the low hanging tarp, and with no sleeping bag or pillow. But this was never planned as a five-star holiday.

The sun over the horizon out here is ruthless. The dessert goes from pitch black to very bright in just a few minutes. I pack up my stuff, have a sip of water to get started on and start walking again. I immediately feel the soreness of my feet and legs. I am not used to walking for many hours and ploughing through sand is taking its toll. Lucky I only have to withstand this torture for a few more days. Today and tomorrow is full on walking. Then the day after that I should be arriving at the end of the road. Assuming I live that long.

As the day drags along, I keep on walking, regularly checking my compass to ensure that I am on the right track. Just a few hours without checking the direction, can easily mean I will drift off course by several degrees. And even a few degrees over a large distance means ending up miles away from where you plan to. I can’t afford to wander even a few miles off my target. Between the minimal amount of food and water, and the constant burning sun, a few hours of walking could easily mean the difference between life and death. So, I keep walking and I keep checking my compass, several times each hour.

The entire day it feels like time is crawling so slowly it could stop at any moment. But now I see the sunlight fading around me and feel the entire day just slipped away between my fingers. I hastily set up my minimalistic camp. Before I go to sleep, I check the water level once again. I have just under half my water left. At this rate I will run out before I reach my destination. Having to walk the last stretch with no water at all, could prove fatal. But there is no time to think about that now. I need sleep.

The sun is in my eyes before I know it, waking me from a less-than-optimal sleep. My legs hurt even before I realize that I woke up. My eyes are dry and my mouth even more so. I immediately notice the sand in places I don’t like to have sand. Between my toes, in my ears, and practically everywhere else. I get up and pack my things. Mount my bag and start walking. I see spots and hear a slight ringing. My eyelids are heavy, and I have to physically force my legs to move for every step. I take a few big gulps of water, hoping that a hydration-kickstart will help my aching joints and sore everything to push through the pain and keep moving. Of course, in reality a boost from having some extra water now will only mean I will run out that much faster, making my situation infinitely worse at a later point in time.

The hours are even slower today, and yet noon comes sneaking up on me like the birthday of someone you are supposed to care about, but don’t. I eat a little of my food, while still walking, and flush it down with a sip of water. I meant to take a big mouthful of water for lunch, but only small sip reaches my mouth. The sack is empty. The fear immediately rushes over me like a wave of ice-cold water. From my estimations I have to walk the rest of the day and most of tomorrow as well. But with no water at all, there is a good chance I will pass out from thirst before nightfall. The fatigue and the pain really set in after that. Even though my backpack is significantly lighter without the water in it, it feels extremely heavy and awkward on my back. Not long into the afternoon I grab the rest of my food from the pack. There isn’t mush left, so I can easily carry it in my hands, and I can sleep without the tarp for one night. I throw the backpack in the sand as I walk and leave it there. It holds no value to me now. I try to eat some of the remaining food, but my mouth is too dry to chew it. I decide to ditch the rest of that as well. There seems to be no point in carrying food I can’t eat.

My throat has dried out completely, my eyelids feel like sandpaper when I blink, and I can’t move my tongue. Every breath feels like it is burning all the way from the mouth and nose down to the bottom of my lunges. My thoughts are getting cloudy and incoherent and yet I know that my hours on this earth are very likely running out. Like sand in an hourglass. I try to laugh at my own gallows humour, but instead of air and sound, only dust comes out of my mouth. I slave on for hours, slowly walking myself to death. It seems pointless, but I have nothing else to do. Eventually the light starts to fade, but I see no point in stopping and making camp. There is no camp to be made anyways, so I keep walking while the sun glides down behind the sand dunes. Eventually I fall to my knees and notice my eyes have closed. I don’t know how long they were closed. Maybe seconds? Maybe hours? I slowly force them open again, just in time to see the last light disappear. The evening air is still excruciatingly hot and too dry to describe. I crawl a few meters to the edge of the dune on which I am about to collapse. And there, over the edge I see it. The temple in the dessert. A sandstone building with a few trees and a fountain with the clearest water. Just a few hundred meters away. All I have to do is drag my tortured body to it, and this will all be over. 

Written 01/03-2021

We have been fighting for ages, my mortal enemy and I. Some may say I am a bit overdramatic, but we have been going at it for literally a year and a half and he has always been a few steps ahead of me. Avoiding my traps, dodging my every attempt on his life. I feel I have tried everything to get the drop on him and still, I have not been able to get him. It has come to a point where my friends and family are sick of hearing about my war, but I can barely think of anything else. My co-workers have started calling me Trapper John, as a joke, and even my wife thinks this has gone too far. I was trying to explain to her how important this is to me, and she looked me in the eyes, very seriously, and said “John, it’s just a mouse. Maybe if we leave him alone, this all won’t be a problem?”.

Just a mouse! She has no idea what damage a mouse can cause. Let alone a pack of mice if it starts breading. We could have a proper infestation on our hands if we don’t manage to solve this rodent problem. This one little animal has already ruined enough of my life. He needs to be stopped.

It all started with a few droppings in a closet, which I could have accepted if that was all. But from there it escalated, very quickly. I remember it was a Tuesday when a trash bag ripped open on me, as I was taking it to the bin in the driveway. After inspecting the bag, it was evident that something had been gnawing holes in the bag, which compromised the integrity of the thin plastic, eventually leading to the catastrophic failure, leaving trash all over the driveway. After that it happened almost daily, and we soon learned to wrap the trash bags in an extra bag every time we took out the trash.

A few days after the first incident I found a hole in the bottom of a box of cereal in the kitchen cupboard. Of course, cereal spilled everywhere, but the worst part was, that now everything in the kitchen had to be carefully inspected before use. All our food had to be considered compromised by the rodent. I started setting traps around the house, in cupboards, in corners, under the bed, in the garage. Pretty much everywhere and anywhere the little critter might pass by. But he wasn’t that stupid. No matter what I loaded the traps with, he ignored them, and went straight for the food in the kitchen.

The battle escalated to a war on the day when I found that two full boxes of chocolate-chipped cookies had been raided. There was nothing more than a few crumbs left of my delicious snacks. I expanded my trap coverage to also include places like under the couch, the shoe rack and behind the books in the bookcase. Unfortunately, my enemy also expanded his activities, and we soon started noticing bitemarks in places where there would be no chance for him to find food. One day it was a book where an entire corner was ripped to confetti, the next day t-shirt in the closet would have large holes that were never there before. One day we wanted to watch a DVD and the player wouldn’t turn on. Behind the TV-table we found that most of the wires were chewed to a point where they would be dangerous to use. The power cord for the DVD player had been bitten in half.

The war went on for months back and forth. I set out more traps and even tried poison. He got more aggressive in what he destroyed. Books, furniture, electronics, water pipes. A while back I found his nest, behind a cabinet in the kitchen. One of the panels on the wall was slightly loose and inside the wall was his little fortress. He had it good in there, with a bed of ripped paper and old socks. A stockpile of food to last a lifetime for him and 800 of his closest friends. I, of course, took everything. Threw the whole pile in the bin outside and spread poison in the hole where he lived. Then I closed it back up, to give him some peace and quiet to come back home. It didn’t work. He still kept terrorising me in my own home. If anything, I only made him more aggressive. Today is a Sunday. I have made a proper brunch for my wife and myself. We are sitting in silence enjoying the quiet morning. The coffee is hot and strong, the bacon crisp and the sun peaking through the window, bathing my beautiful wife in a yellowish glow. A loud snapping sound is heard from the kitchen. One of the traps must have been set off. We both freeze for a second. Then we look each other in the eyes. She smiles, as I relax my shoulders for the first time in over a year.

Written: 24/02-2021

Almost everyone has imaginary friends as kids. Some people hold on to those imaginary friends well into their teens. Most people let go of or even forget, their imaginary friends when they grow up. For some reason it is considered odd for an adult to have imaginary friends and people who do have them risk getting sent to some mental facility to get ‘sorted out’. That is why I usually don’t tell people about James, the big friendly penguin I have been hanging out with since childhood.

James showed up when I first started school, just after my sixth birthday and I quickly learned that I was the only one who could see him. We soon became best friends, and we would do everything together. We would play all day, and he would help me with classes. He was always just a little better at school than me, so I always had someone to ask about the hard subjects. James stuck with me all through school and then through college. He helped me write poems and love letters for girls I liked. He gave me tips and pointers for my first ever interview for a job (I landed that puppy like an airbus on the Hudson). To this day I still turn to James for help, more often than I turn to my other (Read: Real) friends or family. As I grew older, I always wondered if and when James would have to leave me. But he never left or even seemed to have a plan to do so. I asked him about it a few times, but since he has no idea where he came from, he also has no idea when he should leave. Frankly I don’t want him to. We have grown too close, and I wouldn’t know what to do without him at this point.

Having a seven-foot penguin following me around can, of course, be a bit awkward at times, but luckily, he has enough etiquette to leave me alone when I need him to. For example, he doesn’t mind sleeping in the hall when I have guests over, and he conveniently always has some important errand to run when I go to the bathroom.

These days we are basically roommates. We play games and watch TV, and we eat drink and laugh together. Just the other day he taught me to make pizza from scratch. And I mean, all the way. Obviously, I can buy a pizza dough and throw on a load of toppings, but James thought it would be a blast to try and make everything our selves. We went out and bought everything to make the dough, the souse, and the toppings. I thought I was doing ok, but the dough kept sticking to the table while I was trying to knead it. I was starting to get frustrated when James came to my aid. “Hi. Try using a bit more flour. Sprinkle some on the table under the dough maybe.” I did as he suggested, and the dough immediately became much more cooperative. It is this kind of life-saving advice that makes James so important to me.

Today we are going to my high school reunion at Stevens house. I’m almost ready, tying my tie and adjusting the hair, when James turns to me, with a worried look on his face. “Bro, I don’t think I should come to the reunion.”

I look up at the big penguin. “What are you talking about? Of course, you are coming.”

“I just think it might be better if I stayed home this time. Like keeping an eye on the house, and all.”

“Dude. You always go where I go, you know that. And what good would it be, having you watch the house? What exactly would you do if something happened?”

James looks nervously around the room. I haven’t seen him like this since we went to the shrink and he was scared I would tell her about him. “What’s gotten into you today? What are you scared of?”. This gets on his nerves, as he likes to remind me that he is never scared of anything. Except maybe shrinks. “I’m not scared. You are scared”. Sometimes James is a bit childish, but you can’t blame him. He is an imaginary prenguin after all. “Fine, if you are not scared, you are going to the party with me.” For a good few seconds, he just stands there looking at me. “Fine, I guess I’m going to the party then”.

When we roll up to Stevens house it is evident that he has done a lot better than me since high school. This place is a mansion, with a large garden and a pool. We go around the garden and make conversation with old classmates for a while. Meaning that I walk around making small talk while James follows me awkwardly. It is great to catch up with old friends and see what everyone has done with their lives since we went to school together. The only odd thing is James seems nervous still. Usually at events and parties he will be smiling and giving pointers on who to talk to. He will even come up with the odd icebreaker for me if a conversation is stalling. I would love to talk to him about it, but I can’t exactly start a conversation with my seven-foot-tall invisible penguin friend in the middle of this party. People would stare or call the cops or something. I’ll just have to talk to him when we get home. Until then, I have to mostly ignore him altogether.

After about an hour at the party we bump into Sophia. I never spoke to her much, but I always liked her. She is still a beautiful girl, and damn, can she wear a summer dress. We start talking about old times, sharing stories that were never supposed to leave the school. We have a great time, and we laugh.

After a bit the talking dies out a bit, and I fear for a second the conversation is ending. Luckily Sophia catches it before it falls. “So, what do you do now? I heard you were going to get into some tech stuff?” As unlikely as it is that she wants to know about my job, it can at least save the conversation for now. “Yes, I am a software developer now. I program microchips that goes in vending machines to determine if a coin is real or not, based on the size, weight, and colour. Not as action packed as it might sound, but it pays the bills. How about you? Where did you end up?”. She laughs a bit and look past me for a split second. “I am a psychologist. I have my own small practice and try to help people better understand them selves and what is going on in their lives.”

James is standing to my left, and when Sophia answers my question, I notice him shift nervously on his feet. I can’t help smiling a little. Sophia looks at me, somewhat puzzled. “Is it funny that I try to help people?” she asks playfully. I have to apologize and explain that I think it’s amazing that she helps people with whatever they have going on. After a few more minutes, talking about work the conversation falls silent again, but Sophia keeps shifting her gaze from me to something behind me. And she has an odd smile on her face, that I can’t really find a word for.

I notice James signalling me to leave, like he knows the conversation is dead, and there is no point trying to resurrect it. But then Sophia picks it up once again, with a question, that I was not prepared for. “Hey, what’s the deal with the penguin?”

Written 17/02-2021