Beacon

There, in the distance was a flicker of light, a beacon. Barely visible, but just bright enough to be seen, but not clear enough to reveal its location. Bright enough to guide, but not enough reveal the source.

I walked, I walked for three nights, always setting out as the sun dipped below the horizon, just as the beacon began to show itself. Some nights it took longer to be revealed, and on the third night I feared I had lost it because it didn't flicker brightly enough to be seen until an hour after the sun's fall. In its absence I felt lost, without direction, alone.

The fifth night found me worn, weary and parched. The day was harsh, the sands like burning coal, coarse, and golden, like a burning sea catching the morning sunrise. I slept during the day, beneath rocks and trees, claiming whatever shade I could, and dreaming of nightfall, of the beacon.

The eigth night was one filled with jubilation, the beacon blazed now, a white light posessing a slow flicker. The sands fought me with each step, they grasped at my feet, attempting to drag me under like some hungry beast. I fought back with what little strength I had.

The ninth day was revelation, as I climbed one last dune and saw before me not a single light, but a sprawling city filled with the lights like that of the beacon which was naught more than a tower climbing into the sky.

I was saved.