Village in the Dust

I was a stranger in this wasteland. Alone and weary, I had been wandering for hours in this hot place, ever since the accident. My plane had taken off from Tripoli and was supposed to do a tour of the landmarks in the desert of Libya. From the sand dunes of the Sahara to the ancient Roman ruins of the north. I was told it would only take an hour at the most. Yet I was so wrong to believe so. The plane encountered a dust storm, which along with a number of other things (the plane being old and in need of repair) caused the engines to fail and crashed in the middle of nothing but sand dunes. Sadly, I was the only survivor.I somehow made it out of the crash with only a few cuts and scrapes. Almost too lucky, I thought to myself. I gathered up what things I could salvage, and began to walk. I wasn't sure which way to go, so I just walked straight ahead. I remembered from earlier we saw a caravan of natives not too far away, and I figured I could have made it to them. Walking for hours in the desert may not have seemed logical, but somehow it made the most sense to me. As hours went by, and with the sweat rolling off my face continuously, I dropped to the ground ready to give up. I had no water. I had no idea of where I was at. My chances of survival were slim, if non-existent at that point. Around me, the sands blew around encircling me with their dryness and power. Through the plumes of sand, I saw what appeared to be a village in the distance. Painfully, I stood up and made my way to the small huts I could barely see. Upon entering the village, the winds around me died down and I got a sharp chill down my spine. Something about this place made me feel uneasy. My quest for water, however, overruled any attempt at leaving this odd silent place. Looking around, the place was very small. Only 4 huts in total, and all appearing abandoned. In the middle, there was stone structure that rose 4 feet off the ground. With closer inspection, I found that it was a well. With joyous yelps and screams, I lowered the bucket down hoping for a drop of the precious water it could contain. While lowering the bucket down into the well, I heard a strange noise from behind me. I ignored it at first, only thinking of the water that could replenish my parched body. Once again, I heard the same noise but this time it was several times louder. I turned, and to my horror, I saw twelve naked natives slowly walking towards me. One of them was beating a stick upon a drum like instrument. The others just stared at me. All of them were deathly skinny, and had this gelatin like substance on the heads. I looked at him, I thought I would be the leader and try to reason with him; I put up my hands to show I meant no harm, and that I only wanted water. After doing this, the man just looked at me stoically. The native with the drum started to beat faster and faster. He then yelled out in some unknown language, which caused all of them to erupt in a screaming fit upon me. Knowing I must have offended them, I took off running towards the back of the village. I knew I was weak, but after seeing that all of them were literally skin and bones, I thought that there was no way they could catch me. I was wrong. All of them instantly were behind me, throwing rocks as they ran trying to hit my legs. I tried running faster but my body just gave up. I slammed hard onto the sand, hoping they would just kill me there, so I could not suffer anymore. Lying there, I felt them put their hands over me, feeling all parts of my body. I wondered if they were cannibals, if perhaps that would cook and eat me. The group, with all their strength, lifted me up and carried me back toward the huts. In absolute fear, I passed out. My eyes soon opened to the sight of darkness. Hours must have passed, as it was now nighttime. As I slowly lifted my head and looked around, I saw I was next to the well in the middle of the village. A chill ran down my spine, and I realized what the villagers had done to me. All over my body was the paste like substance. It gave off a cooling feeling, almost euphoric. I struggled to wipe it off me, but it had dried onto my skin. My sudden movements aroused the villagers to the well, and they all started to chant at me. "Sum ca dall full! Sum ca dall full! SUM CA DALL FULL!" I yelled back at them to burn in hell, when a lone villager, a shaman perhaps appeared and spoke words that made my heart stop: They are inside you!! Realizing that he spoke English, I demanded an explanation at what he meant. With a small grin on his face, he turned and walked away. My chest then burned slightly, and I felt my lungs grow tight. My whole upper body ached, and I had a strong desire, an urge for more of the paste. I had to rub it on me. I had to consume it. My mind was filled with sounds of chatter nonsense. It grew louder and louder, to the edge of driving me insane. I tried to collect myself, to create strength out of pure weakness. All of my attempts were futile. Time had passed, and I found myself lying back next to the well. My body was covered in the paste, the wretched substance that drove me mad. I felt it pulsate over my skin, consuming my flesh. I knew then there was nothing I could do about it.