You can't even remember why you'd made such a stupid decision to begin with— no normal person could survive so long put in the desert, and yet, you'd chosen to make the walk to the next town anyways. Despite your beliefs, you are a fairly normal person.

The desert seems endless. The sky above you stretches out into eternity, melding with the horizon as the night begins to fall. At some point, you'd inevitably run out of water. Your bag is empty of useful supplies, and you're still nowhere near your destination; by the time your legs give out under you, you've slowly begun to accept your apparent fate. You're a normal person— you won't make it.

You're not sure how long you lay there in the gritty sand before a new sound appears at the edge of your consciousness. Is that— footsteps? Or a hallucination—?