Dreams in the Dust

Most of them had their dreams neatly folded in little fanny packs or packs they wore on their backs. A few of them had nothing. They were dressed not unlike you and I. With jeans and t-shirts. A few of the women's jeans had stylishly placed frayed holes at their thighs or their knees.

Those holes caused them considerable discomfort now in the frigid night air and they sat, huddled together, pulling their legs in tight to their chests.

They all had different stories to tell, but they didn't tell them.

Instead, they spoke of the future. How their hopes and dreams would one day be enough to fill a house,

with plenty left over for their children to dream big.

But that was days ago

and tonight, nobody was speaking. Instead, they sat silent shivering in the cold night air thinking of those they loved. The vitality of their life force could be measured by the clouds that ballooned from their mouths. One or two lay motionless, with not even enough energy left to shiver. Their breath almost imperceptible. Their exhaled dreams drift for a brief moment in front of their drawn faces then dissipate to nothing in the night air.

And when the dawn breaks, a few more will have slipped away in the night. For those that remain, the heat of the desert sun will make a stench of the dead. It will beat it's fists upon the semi truck

that sits abandoned

In a sea of desert sand