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Story & Illustration by\u00a0Emily B. Martin \u201910, M \u201912<\/b><\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div> | Clemson World Exclusive<\/strong> |<\/p>\n A short story introducing the title character of noted author Emily B. Martin’s new young adult fiction series<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div> The girl called Nit closed her eyes\u00a0<\/span>with every intention to die. <\/span><\/p>\n The desert, with its angry sun and baking sands, had killed her.<\/p>\n It hadn\u2019t taken long. In the previous few hours, as thirst and heat exhaustion had set in, she\u2019d lost track of how long she\u2019d been walking. Escape from the work quarry where she\u2019d grown up hadn\u2019t been planned. If she\u2019d had any time to consider the likelihood of survival, she never would have risked it. But she\u2019d had no time, only a moment\u2019s opportunity, and she\u2019d taken it. She\u2019d walked into the desert, and the desert had waited patiently, watching her run, then walk, then stagger, then crawl into a tangle of thornbushes, and then it had moved in, quiet as dusk, to finish her off.<\/p>\n Under the dappled shade of the thorn bushes, she felt her final breath slip from her lips. Her chest stilled and her belly caved in on itself. She felt the desert slide in around her, as if her small heartbeat had been the only thing keeping it at bay. Now the dry heat lapped up over her skin and sank into her veins. With a calm, detached interest, she watched her body slowly fall apart, revealing a small, muddy skeleton. The desert wasn\u2019t content to leave even that untouched, and as time passed she watched the almighty sun bleach the bones to a clean yellow-white. She marveled that something so pretty had been locked up inside her, under dirty skin and inconvenient blood.<\/p>\n Everything about the process was gentle and inevitable, which was more of a relief than anything. She watched rains come and go, cycling into patterns of flood and drought. She watched as the thorn bushes she\u2019d hidden under grew and seeded themselves, then grew old and died. She watched the ground crack and turn to sand, watched the mesas in the distance wither and give themselves up. The desert, it seemed, took everything eventually \u2014 plant, rock, flesh, bone. The ground crunched beneath her.<\/span><\/p>\n The crunching became rhythmic, a drumbeat that buzzed through her fingers. Darkness fell over her eyes \u2014 had the end of time finally swallowed the desert itself?<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div> She watched the ground crack and turn to sand, watched the mesas in the distance wither and give themselves up. The desert, it seemed, took everything eventually \u2014 plant, rock, flesh, bone.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div> \u201cUgh, not another one.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Branches crackled and snapped, and something prodded her toe.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHey. You. Are you dead?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The girl called Nit wasn\u2019t sure why the desert was asking this question, or who it was aimed at, or why it was relevant.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBy the Light, I don\u2019t have time for this. Rose, crawl under there and see if she\u2019s dead. And if she is, strip her belt \u2014 I could use a new one to haul firewood.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n There was more crackling. Leaves drifted down to land on her cheeks and forehead. She wrinkled her brow.<\/span><\/p>\n A hand landed on her, pressing against her chest. Fingers probed her face, felt her lips, thumbed her eyelid. Blurry light seared into her head.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHey,\u201d a voice murmured. \u201cI\u2019ve got some water. Can you sit up?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs she dead?\u201d the first voice called.<\/p>\n \u201cNo. Just dried up.\u201d<\/p>\n The first voice swore colorfully. \u201cCan you get her belt anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think she\u2019ll come around if we can get some water into her.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t have time to revive every half-dead runaway who breaks out of the work quarries. Grab her belt and help me get this firewood back to camp.\u201d<\/p>\n The hands on Nit\u2019s chest and face moved to her shoulders, and the soft voice that belonged to them spoke again. \u201cRito said yesterday he wished we had another hand for cattle-branding days. And if you had someone else besides me to fetch and carry, you wouldn\u2019t have to haul firewood yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
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<\/a><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/clemson.world\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/06\/Bird-Flower-NEW.png\")
<\/a>Until now.<\/span><\/p>\n
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