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Without warning the engine began to rumble. I looked down and tapped the petrol indicator. Empty; zero; nothing in the tank. As I looked around me I began to worry. I had no idea where I was; just that it wasn't where I was supposed to be. Looking for landmarks only dampened the faint hope that I had ' dry, arid and completely flat; Arizona was the last place I wanted to be. I knew nothing about this place ' and this only made me more scared. I only remembered the words of my old geography teacher Mr Allchin, 'Ordinarily the sky at evening over the desert, when seen without clouds, shows the colours of the spectrum beginning with red at the bottom and running through the yellows, greens, and blues up to the purple of the zenith' - but tonight the sky seemed empty and drained of its colour. The famous mountains of Arizona; The Painted Desert seemed bleak, bland and insipid.
The pick-up cut out altogether. I pulled myself into the back seats of the truck. I sighed heavily, slumped back and tilted my head, eyes closed, towards the sky. They'd catch me now. I dragged my sweaty, cold hands over my face in despair and let the enclosing darkness surround me totally and then swallow me completely.
I awoke, my body chilled and limp. With bitterness I groaned as I stretched, reaching out blindly for my rucksack. I found it nestled on the seat in front of mine. It was caught; somehow knotted around the front passengers' seatbelt. The bag seemed to taunt me by refusing to budge as I first twisted it one way then the other - pulling heftily all the while. I stood up on the back seat and climbed over to undo the strap holding my bag closed. But my bag wasn't closed ' not even half closed. Hastily I climbed in to the drivers seat and rummaged feebly around in my bag. They had been and had taken whatever food and precious water I had left. They didn't need to shoot me; they would let the desert do the job for them. I tried to put this to the back of my mind, scavenged around in the glove compartment, scrabbling my fingers around looking for anything that I could eat. But there was nothing. I looked in the cars' pockets; behind and under the seats; in the boot and near the doors. Looking, looking. Searching, searching. But all signs of food were gone. And every drop of liquid had escaped my pursuit also. Thoroughly miserable I clambered out of the car and into the open. I spun in circles; my arms perpendicular to my body; my head thrust upward at the vast blue canvas that man called sky. I became light-headed quickly however and my scabby knees supported my weight in the orange dust of the desert.
It was then that I began to think that I was going to die - utterly alone and thoroughly helpless. I cried out in despair but that only made my throat all the more dry. I found it hard to breathe and started to rasp when inhaling. I was being choked by an invisible force; drowned by a wave of desolation; smothered by a blanket of solitude and loneliness.
I tried to walk but could only stumble along; knees bent; hands curled up ' the skin cracking on the surface of my hands. The land was flat; I could see no sign of hills or valleys; of mounds or dips ' I could see no change in the terrain around me.
I knelt down, head resting weakly in my hands and wept. Floods of tears poured down my face and onto my dirty clothes. Hands of sorrow and distress clawed at me and held on to my sagging body until it became unbearable and I threw myself to the ground, setting myself in what surely would be my dusty grave. I changed my position until I lay sprawled in a bizarre manner; but I didn't care; no one could see me because there was no one there. I felt my breathe slow and my heartbeat slow down also. My vision became sporadic and eventually I shut my eyes completely and I promised myself not to open them again. All sense had gone apart from my hearing; I heard the wind whirl around in the open and I wished that someone would appear if only to whisper some endearing words of comfort into my ear. But for me, no one came.

I fell asleep and never woke up.