The desert engulfs my surrounding, and I feel like nothing more than a speck of sand. Or maybe the sand is inside of me, and I’m just an hourglass ready to be flipped. Whatever I am, I don’t remember.
“Speed it up!” The old man ordered.
“Where are we going?” I asked

“In time you’ll see.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I’m incapable of lying; therefore I can only present the truth.”

“What?” I confusedly asked.

“In time.”

I can’t trust this old man. He wants something from me, but I don’t know what. He’s a strange old man. Everything he says seems like it’s in riddles. How can you trust a man who has nothing but secrets?

“I need to drink something.” I said smacking my dry lips.

“No! Water will disrupt the flow. You may drink when the flow needs to be disrupted.”

Disrupt the flow? This old man wants me to die. This old man has an entire bag of food and a full canteen of water, but he never lets me drink, and he never lets me eat. When will the flow need to be disrupted, when I’m dying? I already feel myself slipping away.

“The future is never closer, and the present is always here. Only until the future becomes the present will we meet our destination. So you may drink, so that you may disrupt the inevitable, causing future destination to become present.”

“Disrupt the inevitable?” I asked hoping for an answer and not a riddle.

“The past is unchangeable; the present is our only tool to changing the future. Now drink!” He ordered.

He handed me the water canteen. I screwed off the cap and pressed the opening against my lips. The moist water felt good on my dry mouth. I took a big swig, held the water in my mouth to let it soak on my tongue and let it slide slowly down my throat.

“That’s enough!” He yelled while ripping the canteen out of my mouth and closing the lid.

“Hey! Next time ask!” I said irritated.

“If I waited and asked, we could have missed your destination. We need the flow to continue, but I need you to make it to your destination when your flow is no more.”

What does he mean by flow? I need my memory, not flow. It feels like reality is slipping by the second. When did I get to this desert? How did I get to this desert? It felt like yesterday that I was running through a green meadow, or maybe that was a mirage. Maybe the meadow deteriorated like my memory.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” I asked.

“You remember nothing, because you have nothing worth remembering.” The old man answered

“Why do I remember a green meadow?” I asked curiously.

“That memory will pass soon too. You see, memory is just of whom we were, and what we are today. Your Memory is gone, because you are no longer yourself.” The old man explained.

“Just tell me who I am? Where are we going? JUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER!” I yelled.

“We’re only going back.” The old man explained, while still managing to leave me clueless.

What can this old man offer me besides riddles? I want straight answers, but I only get more questions. I can feel my belly rumble in pain from hunger. I would ask the old man for food, but he would give me the same answer he always gives me, “Not until the flow is ready to be disrupted”. I feel crazy, I’m in a desert, I don’t know who I am, and I’m hungry. I feel like I may lose my sanity if this continues.

“Give me an answer! GIVE ME AN ANSWER! WHAT IS HAPPENING?” I asked demanding a straight answer.

“Soon you will know.” The old man said, again in riddles.

“NOT LATER! NOW!” I ordered.

“Those who seek an answer will get it when the…”

“JUST SHUT UP!” I yelled, interrupting the old man.

His riddles made me fill with rage and annoyance. I felt a fist forming at my sides. It squeezed tighter and tighter. My rage kept building faster and faster. I struck the old man in his wrinkled old face, and he fell into the sand. I kicked him in the side to see if he had consciousness, but he was out. His body began to turn to sand, and become part of the desert.

“What’s happening, what did I do? WHAT’S GOING ON?”

I was now yelling to myself. The old man turned to sand, am I going crazy? I looked in his bag to grab some food. All of the food turned to sand; even the canteen was filled with sand. The only thing left in the bag was an hour glass made of wood and glass. Most of the sand in the hourglass had already fallen to the bottom. On the top of the hour glass was engraved “When you’re old, you’ll turn to sand and the sand will fall. Bring yourself to the desert, where the meadow and your memory will fade, and give yourself this sand when you die and when you’re dead.”
The sand has almost fallen to the bottom of the hourglass. It would only be a matter of seconds before the bottom would be full. The desert began to blow away, and I could see myself turn to nothing.