He is a boy. The cerulean sky is bereft of a single cloud. Heat billows around him in thick waves like great silk sheets being shaken and tossed under the desert sun. Sand collects around his ankles in the hot, dry wind. Voices whisper softly in the breeze, just out of the range of his ears, telling him to walk on, walk on. The landscape is barren, rolling golden hills far as his young eyes can see in the desolate air of the Libyan desert. The abyss glares back at him with contempt, ready to grind him into a powder as fine as the grains of the Great Sand Sea. He turns around, and at his bare feet he finds a long, dark shadow. He follows the shadow with his eyes, and in the sands ahead is a mammoth stone archway, a gaping mouth protruding from the side of the dune. Slowly he shuffles through the sand, making his way beneath the tall shade, lest he might get his blistered skin out of the unforgiving sun. He approaches the square archway as if in a trance, unable to stop himself and walk the other way, unable to care or understand why. Wary, he peeks into the cavern entrance, cool air settling upon his face and shoulders. On any normal occasion, Danny wouldn't dream of entering a strange ruin without asking his parents to make sure if it was safe. But this thought washes away as easily as it was built, and his cracked feet bring him into the unknown.
He walks with no purpose, blind and alone. There is no light to be had, no buffeted zephyr of warm silk at his back. There is no sweat on his brow. He walks on and on, taking no turns, no twists or bends of the path. The darkness is inviting, concealing, comforting. He runs a hand across the sandstone wall as he scuffles along further and further into the black. He is stolen by a shiver that racks his bones, makes his teeth rattle in his head. Something vaguely prods him from behind, pushes him to keep going, to keep walking. A hot, shaky breath pools around his ear and neck. He is suddenly filled with fear and dread, and the thing behind him gets closer and closer. He is possessed by an onslaught of will, and the overwhelming desire to run.
He runs.
It does not matter that the way is overlain with rocks and that he stubs his toe every few feet. It doesn't matter that he is out of breath, dehydrated and starving. It does not matter that he is already dead. It's coming. And he must run. He briefly looks behind to catch a glimpse of his pursuer, even though he cannot see at all, and when he turns his head back, he is running full-speed into a great wall of light. He tries to stop, but his forward momentum is too strong. Danny stumbles into the well-lit space, eyes stinging and squinting from the brightness.
It is quiet. There isn't a single sound. There are people. This is the first thing he notices when his eyes begin to adjust. The light is still a bit too bright, casting a filtered glow upon everything. Some of the people are sitting in chairs, but most of them are milling about hurriedly, carrying clipboards. There are beds. Many of them. But only one is occupied. In the haze, Danny moves towards the occupied bed, surrounded by a small contingent of people. He recognizes none of them. The closer he approaches the bed, the clearer things become. There is a man with greying hair, a blond woman and a bald dark-skinned man. A doctor suddenly crosses the space in front of him, almost knocking him down. Recovering, he touches the end of the bed, and leans forwards to get a better look at who was lying in it.
He stared wide-eyed, at himself.