She found her species and settled in. The rest of us wandered, sad nomads with no fear to fight.

Fear propogates reality, like oxygen propells life through breath. Fear, your best friend at the edge of a 40 story building. Fear, your chance to run from the raging bull. Depending of course on how you view it all.

A long sweltering desert with mild oases here and there. Set out on a journey prone to failure. Never fit this tribe completely. Never could last without. Make your own pool of water under the fig tree. It's the only you got.

Hope gets left out of most sentences. Nothing to be ashamed of. Can you feel the desert in the words? The miles and miles of hot wind and stale breath to come?

There was a thrill to running recklessly through the cities and towns, even through the unbearable hunger and thirst. Even when the head was bobbing forward and it was unknown whether it would ever lift again.

The fear is running after, it's ready to take hold, the only chance of outrunning it now is trickery. Perhaps a mirage. Yes, that's it, create a mirage. Call it "life"