Man of the Sand: an original short story

The yawning expanse of blue sky seemed to stretch for forever, broken only by the haeted yellow dot that is the sun.  Shimmers of heat wavered in the air, distorting the yellow dunes of desert sand.  One leathery blistered foot after another, the man trudged on.  His ragged, white hair  had been left untouched for nearly a month.  Through what was left of his torn shirt, you could count his ribs easily.  His face was a leathery brown, and in his water hand, he carried a water boottl, that was about half full. 

His troubles began when a snadstorm had swpt through the camp, killing his two friends, and nearly killing him.  It was merciless and left behind few supplies.  With the jeep covered in sand, he had to walk.  Even with careful rations, the food was gone quickly.  And here he was now with nothing but a bottle of water, and the sand. 

His blood shot eyes spoke of little sleep and not enough food and water.  Slowly he rased his skeletal arms and used three fingers to carefully unscrew the cap on the bottle.  Shakily he brought ti to his mouth, and allowed his tounge none more than the sweetness of a few drops.  As he moved to close to bottle, the winds jerked him and a bit of water splashed on the ground.  He stopped to stare, mindless, and tired as he was.  Soon the dark yellow spot was gone, replaced by the course yellow of the dunes.  he stared some minutes more, then put the cap back on.

He walked a bit more, and became to weak to even hold the bottle of water.  It slipped from his twig like fingers and landed with a soft thump in the sand beside him.  Just as he did with the splash of water, he stopped and stared.  He bent down to pick it up, his spine cracking like popcorn.  His knees could no longer hold the wai and and buckled, sending him face first into the sand.  He turned his head and reached for the bottle.  When his fingers brushed it, he stopped.  He did not see nor feel it, the nerves useless, and the eyes staring glassily into the sand.

Some years later, a man on a mission entered the desert.  He was a digger for bones.  He stopped at a place where a jagged white edge peeping from the sand was reported.  He got out his brushess and shovels and things, and dug.  He reatched a peice of white, out of the yellow after some days, and quickly pulled it out.  He found himself staring at the sun-bleached skull of a man.  Upon further reasearch he found a skeleton, and a plastic water bottle, now empty.  The skull was from a few years ago, and was given the name Dr. Robert J. Roberts.  The name of a man who had disappeared from his campsite after a sandstorm in which his fellow travellers were killed.