Sands of Time
A god forgotten
He waited alone in the desert, long forgotten by humans, though once they had revered him. Inklings of his existence sometimes made their way into their collective consciousness, a song here, a story there. None of them accurate. Just evidence that somehow, they still retained a fragment of a memory of him.
Only the sand man’s head was visible above the desert. At least, so it appeared. In truth, he was the desert. In a deeper truth, he was many other things besides.
The nomads who traversed his sands had lost their way. Once they had sought him out, seeking his wisdom. Now they drilled through his body to reach the black oil that had propelled humans into an age in which they daily drained the sands of time, ensuring their own demise.
He was patient, this forgotten god. He had watched other versions of humankind come and go. This one would be no different. When they vanished, he would await the next evolution of life, hoping this time, they would heed his tales of caution. Perhaps on this world, though if the humans destroyed it, on another. It didn’t matter to him. For he was implacable in the face of time, the immutable sand that flowed through it, binding all of existence in his wake.
The image at the top of this post just cried out for a story. Like so many that I write, what you’ve read here came to me only as my fingers danced across my keyboard. I certainly hope we do better than the god in this story believes we will.