Bush

The red dirt has given way to a scrubby grey landscape. We didn't speak at all today. My head and back are aching. At some point, we're going to have to turn around and go back, or we're all going to die here. But not yet.

I dreamt about Bob. He was sitting cross-legged by a spiny bush. He shook his head when he saw me. He told me I'd failed. Said that we'd lost one of the challenges. There were four more. I asked him how many I had to win. He said the more the better. He told me the balance had already shifted after the first challenge. I asked him what it was, how I'd failed. He shrugged and said that was part of the problem. He put his hand through the ground, as if it was water. He said the ground held the answer. Then he sank.

I woke up standing under the stars in front of a bush. It wasn't the bush from my dream. It was smaller and a different shape. In a half trance, I dropped to my knees and began to claw at the dirt. There was nothing there. I don't know why I wanted the answer when I don't even understand the question.