The Adversary

Author's note: Here I tried to kind of mimic Robert Louis Stevenson's style in a metaphorical snapshot of a man.struggling through the desert, using much of the same diction for effect.

He struggled against the stifling desert wind, his blistered face without distinguishable fault but repressing a disdained being, a face unblemished but without a doubt deformed. The desert heat scarred a man, inducing him into negligence of self image, or thought of anything other than the spiteful wasteland. Without warning it tossed up a handful of sand into his face. Thinking of nothing but defeating the beast, no conscious thought existed past “I can overcome this adversary. Meager desert heat is nothing to man’s menace.” The sand began to churn with greater passion, whipping up into a storm that had taken the life of many a man stronger than he. Few there were who could confront the desert. Vague shapes wafted through the clouds of dust, some darting close enough to make him flinch. The nebulous phantasm screamed, a banshee ripping at his ears, sheer power no human power could defy. “No…” But the man’s steps began to falter.

Then the wind changed, almost imperceptibly. Now there was more than sand, an occasional glimpse of blue. Soon it became apparent that there glowed a hope in the man’s seemingly futile struggle. A pillar of sand began to take shape beneath his feet, and he rose, at first gradually but soon climbing far above the tempestuous haze. But the pillar didn’t die away, only swelled in might. Gazing up, the clouds parted before him, and materialized into tangible walls, a warm hall, furnished for comfort, lit by shimmering lamps. As he passed each lamp, the years seemed to melt off his face. No longer did his face bring feelings of unrest and anxiety, but sincerity and tenderness. With a path now set forward, the man stepped onward, off his pillar, confident in foundation now afforded him by his path of virtue. Virtue carried him onward, with purpose, though without apparent foundation, and into the waiting arms of the clouds.