Raze

I breathe in, and the world ceases its turn. The wind twists around me, pulls me toward nothing, presses hot and tumultuous against my skin, whipping my hair into a frenzy, stinging my eyes,  before dying dramatically with a stirring of sand at my feet. The sun hangs heavy in a bleached sky, a shimmering illusion of yellow and orange and blue; shifting globe, permanent yet intangible, burning coldly through the blackness of the depleted void. I imagine the impenetrable night that has settled on the other side of the earth: creatures instinctively growing uneasy–their fur bristles, insects chirp arrhythmically, children [who have not learned yet to ignore themselves] toss in their sleep while parents remain motionless–quietly horrified in the knowledge that the sun would never be theirs again while the side of day burns to ashes and dust–awake, and actively envious of the freeze of perpetual night.
I take a trembling step in the sand, push forward, feeling the loss of physical force. Holding my breath, I walk slowly, my head growing light, the gravity escaping me. The ocean is a glass bowl–opaque and still, translucent, reflecting the mirage.  I take another step, and stumble, collapse, a dark creature crumpled in the sand.

I exhale, and the world returns, momentum unbearable.

But I do not move. I remain sinking into the burning sand, the roar of surging water is deafening. Gulls cry. Children laugh and people chatter, cars race down crakced asphalt, and I remain, silent.
I am a shell, washed over and over by the cool water of the gritty Atlantic, wearing away, disintegrating back to sand: part of everything and, nothing at all. Or could I be a souvenir? Some precious little token of a memory, a necklace, a collection. Kept as gift, a pet, something pretty to look at and keep forever. That too, would inevitably wear me away.