This one came from a writing prompt on Writing Excuses (A man crosses a desert with the aid of a monkey). What I came up with is a touch odd, but interesting. I think it might bear further exploration, but I didn’t want a repeat of last week where I posted nothing because I got carried away. That, and I’m really busy today and only had a few minutes to spare.
Jonas could feel the grit of the sand rub against his skin where the leather blindfold was intended to shield his eyes, but he could do nothing to relieve the pain as it ground deeper and deeper into his sensitive facial skin. It was for the best that he could not reach the stinking leather mask, he might be tempted to tear it away, but he knew that would only mean death. That didn’t keep him from thinking of doing so, hour after hour as he marched through the godforsaken heat of the Great Empty. Like any other prisoner along The Path his hands were bound, his neck braced stiffly upright, and his legs hobbled. His state left him little option but to continue the march towards Comicca, and hope that the sun, wind, and other horrors, that were only whispered about, did not claim him first.
Despite his best efforts he’d been unable to match the rhythm of the ghastly guide monkeys, the hideous headless beasts that guided him, magically bound to their heads in Comicca, they marched relentlessly. On his back he could still feel the writhing of the Anarba monkeys, equally bound to their own heads, these creatures would tow the Comicca monkeys, and perhaps some other unfortunate soul, back through the Great Empty once he’d arrived in Comicca. He shrugged as he felt the now familiar tug of one of the beasts correcting his course. Not having to watch the vile creatures was perhaps the only upside of the sweat stained leather mask.