sounds

Drip, drip, drip.

Tap, tap, tap.

Like water from a broken faucet.

The sun was hot and harsh.

The ground was cracked and dry.

Everything was lit up as if by a thousand splendid suns. The mountains in the distance, the dust tornado seemingly far away. The few plants interspersed here and there.

Drip, drip, drip.

Tap, tap, tap.

Loud, demanding, insistent.

This had once been a place where one of the great ancient civilizations had made its home. Where they had invented the irrigation system. Where they had lived and worked and further progressed the mind of mankind. Where people had walked under the hot sun in nothing but maybe the thinnest veneer of leather sandals, and they had used humanity’s most valuable asset, its brains. Through the use of intelligence, they had laid the framework and foundation for the first canals and pipes and irrigation systems. An agrarian ancient civilization. Weren’t they all.

Now the only people that came here were archaeologists and tourists.

The former were poorly paid, could barely call themselves archaeologists, and were rarely interested in the work they did here. The latter came mostly to show off to their white friends, or to be able to, look i went to the ruins of a civilization in my country. It was this. It was that. It was so great. Even if they didn’t have fun here. Not Rome, but Drake summed it best

*I know a girl whose one goal was to visit Rome 

Then she finally got to Rome 

And all she did was post pictures for people at home*

Drip, drip, drip.

Tap, tap, tap.

Never ending. It seemed as if it were a fountain that would eternally spew out liquid. But even eternity has an expiry date. This was one edging closer and closer.

In the distance, the dust tornado roared. The earth quaked. The earth cracked some more, the fault lines like gunshots in the mostly silent place. It felt as if the few remains were so fragile that they would fall at the lightest touch. 

The smell of something rancid rode on the dust particles. When they entered your nose, they scraped by un-elegantly, and you shivered because of the smell. It was hot and dry. The ground felt rough and broken under your feet. The dust was everywhere, clinging onto your clothes, trying to enter through the pores of your skin. It was a cacophony of harshness.

Tap, tap, tap.

Drip, drip, drip.

A scraping, gasping. Slight moaning. A man pulled his prone lying body, valiantly, but to no avail. There was nothing around. One of his arms was limp and following the shape of the land as it was dragged over it. The hand on the other arm was scraped and rubbed red and bloody because of this dragging. One leg seemed fine, the other scrambled to try to help. His back seemed bent. His eyes had a pleading wild light in them. His nose was wet and runny, his cheeks streaked with tears, and sparkling with flecks of dust.