I wanted to share with you this scene that popped into my head.
To the left the ocean, to the right the Namib Desert. Smack in the middle of these two giants ran the road that connected two small towns. There was silence in the darkness except for the faint crashing of waves in the background. A small girl walked next to the road, only partly visible through the thick fog. She was dressed by her mother that day, in a hurry before church.
She wanted to wear her favourite red shoes and her mother obliged. Her long dark brown hair now clung to her face, wet from the moisture in the air, one little foot feeling the cold desert sand beneath. She had to find the other shoe. Had to. They would be late if she didn’t. A man approached, dressed in blue overalls, his face not clear to her. His overalls were dirty with oil marks and faded from years of use. He was barefoot.
“Are you also looking for your shoes?” she asked him, her tiny voice shivering. “No, I am looking for my watch, it was a Christmas gift from my son, I am on my way to see him” he said. He was covering the left side of his face with his one hand. “If you see a red shoe, it’s mine” she said, twirling a strand of her wet hair. “You better hurry, they will be here soon” he said, his voice deep and fearful. He walked on, looking for his watch, and she walked on, looking for her shoe. From behind a large sand dune a black figure crawled, its blood shot eyes lighting the way ahead. Using its skeleton fingers to feel the path, it crawled toward the road in silence and excitement.