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a short story by Jared Sande
His extremely tired eyes opened to the sight of the very many leafless branches of the
gigantic, baobab tree; which was „standing' alone in the dry vastness, filled with extremely hot
dust flowing about in the hot, dry winds.
It had been more than three agonizing hours, resting under the partial shadow; lying flat
on his back next to his old, very dusty, fairly straight walking stick - which he struggled and
turned his head to look at.
Turning away and looking around, he wallowed in the frustrating thought of having to get
up; breathing harder as he closed his eyes in great sorrow - pushing his will and straining his
veins in the struggle to sit up.
Torturing his head, was a sudden, excruciating ache; pounding his brain as he very slowly
pushed himself to rise. Struggling and turning on all his fours, he extended his very thin,
hardened right hand to grab his walking stick.
Holding onto the stick, he strained to get up - standing on his very dusty, very weak legs
– getting up on his densely bruised feet on which he had heavily worn out, barely wearable
leather sandals.
Straight and weak along the stick, he stood up; with his very tired, very dizzy eyes
looking forward into the endless, dry emptiness; tired as he sighed while slowly looking back
down at the dust.