Thursday, 3 July 2014

An account on plane trash in the Desert.

"I cannot die so early for I have lot more to achieve"- my conscience replied my mind which couldn't absorb the trauma. My body was shivering with fear and anxiety, but, my pounding heart was sure about my survival. The sun was up on our heads, drinking the energies and burning like a fireball. But, our busy hands and faith in ourselves would build a shelter to save save us from the dreary sun.
The brown land under our feets, the hot air brushing our skin with irritation and the tussle between the fear and faith in our hearts seemed unusual and scary. All 25 of us had divided our tasks; some would help in building the shelter and others were focussing on signalling the outer world of our existance.
"We can make through it" was our watchword that was trained by every mind and spoken out by every mouth who was going through such a fret. Our shelter was prepared within two hours, all we could do was just to stay calm and ear for the sound in the air. The strong loo, trespassing sand seemed so ususal now! Every drop of water was being saved, every starving stomach was ignored, minds were prepared by self-talks and our ears and eyes were all up,  hunting for a hope, happiness and a strong desire.

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