The lord of the desert hides in a shadowed tomb, his burnt skin like shrinking, tearing leather resting over his bones. His face, set sardonically in an invariable grin, with its hollow eyes, waits, staring at the sealed door of his tomb. One day he would be free of darkness to again walk on the desert sands under the desert sun. One day, but for now he waits, bound by ancient, whispered words. The lord of the desert, in his tomb, waits for forgetful man to remember him. Then he will be free, and his sands will cover the earth.
Drabble: He Waits
Tale Told 