I watched the man walk away. I had done it. I had bought this dried up place. I had freed my fellow slaves. But as always, one must stay behind to make sure nothing like this happens again. My life would become fragile, and soon I too will be but sand floating in the winds. To prevent myself from leaving, I put shackles upon myself. In the centre of the desert chasm I stayed. When a week passed, I was no longer in my right mind. My brain had reverted back to the time I was a slave. I screamed, 'Please, give me something! I'm so thirsty....' I began hearing strange noises in that abandoned place. But I was alone. Again, I screamed, 'Let me warn them! Don't come here. Don't bring anyone here!' At the end of my life, I have a vision. Or was it a dream? A dirty man, with a pick-axe resting on his shoulder while he held the handle with one hand, and the other hand occupied with a bucket full of stones, came out of the sun. He wore a battered pair of cover-all's, and a hard hat. The shadow of the hat covered the mans face because his head was down. He is walking on the edge of the chasm. I call out to him.
“Leave! Stay far away from here.” Oh so much did I wish for him to rescue me, but I stuck to my word. The man lifted his head slightly. I saw that he had a strong square chin, and a rough, yet kind smile. He slid down the rocky path, and walked over to me.
“No!” I yell, “Stay away! Don't come here...” The man removes the shackles with a strange key. Then he speaks.
“Are you a fool? No one is here. You no longer need to stay.”
“You don't understand,” I respond, “someone must stay to make sure nothing happens! Like if it caved in, or slaves were forced to work here....”
“You own this place, right?” The man asked. “There are many ways to prevent those sorts of things from happening, without you going to such extremes. The choice, is yours.” Then the man was gone.
That was my dream. After that, well...lets just say that I am alive, and the desert chasm is dealt with.