The man stoops over the lump, brushes at piled sand and stares into a woman’s face, her age indeterminate, arms around a girl-child. With care, he wraps canvas around both as if one, shivers in the heat, and marks the spot with tokens—a cholla flower and broken plastic jug.
Nancy Hartney wrote this story. See more at NancyHartney.com.
His knees hit the sand, and he collapsed face down. Exhausted. Finally spent.
He knew as clearly as anything that if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again.
But he was tired.
So very tired.
More tired than he had ever been before.
He closed his eyes.
Maxwell Park wrote this story.
“It’s a sand witch!” I shouted. “Run!”
My warning came too late. She caught us in her magical snares and turned us into camels.
It took three years to escape, and two more to find a wizard who could change us back. On the upside, I kept the water retention.
This story was based on the TypeTrigger prompt “it’s a sandwich.”