Son of Desert Sand

The wind was noisy, the land was dry, and a dark figure came from a distance, its steps staggering, swaying in the heat. That sun climbed to the highest sky, and it was as fierce as a pot of wine, pouring on my heart. Where did he come from? Dressed in torn, dirty rags and holding on to a pair of smelly cloth shoes with holes in them, his exposed limbs were covered with interlaced red marks burned by the flames. He raised his head and continued to inhale the dust-laden air, his throat rolling, struggling like a deep-sea fish that was mercilessly beaten ashore by the waves. "It's like freedom."