The Sand and I

I don’t remember when the sand first appeared; suddenly, it was everywhere. As if the entire universe had, in a single moment, filled with that coarse substance. No matter how much I swept and polished, wiped the furniture, it always came back, spilling from the tiniest cracks. I soon realized I spent every waking hour trying to get rid of the sand.

When I woke in the morning, I always felt heavy, weighed down by the night I had spent buried beneath that mysterious, all-consuming sand. Then, one day, I felt the sand starting to cling to my skin. Before long, I had to scrub myself daily, each day more desperately than the last, as if the sand would not let me be.

I had to wipe the kitchen table regularly and place my dishes upside down; otherwise, I myself would fill with sand. Often, it felt as if I were nothing but a human filled with sand. It was in my brain, my intestines, my stomach, my heart, my ears, my eyes—everywhere. My speech sounded as if I were spitting tons of sand from my mouth. Mouth full of sand. Soul full of sand. Even my cells seemed shaped from sand. And I—the child of sand.

I have learned to accept the presence of sand. Whereas I once devoted my entire life to sweeping it away, now I let it be. I watch as it packs itself into every corner of my living space. It feels as if it has its own will; from moment to moment, its physical form shifts.

The sand has become a comforting companion on my lonely days. Sometimes, when I have completed all necessary tasks and left the radio transmitter and its possible signals behind, I speak to the sand as if it were a dear friend (now I believe it understands and cares about me). At first, I felt uneasy and deeply ashamed of how far I had fallen. But over time, I grew accustomed to the thought: I am alone here, so who would be watching my actions? I have come to feel that the sand also values it when I speak to it.

On rainy days, when I cannot do any outdoor work, I tell the sand about my life and myself, before all the people disappeared. I say to it: “The world did not vanish, nor did I, but everyone else disappeared. I still don’t understand what happened; where did everyone go, and why am I still here?” I tell it things I would never have shared with a single human soul.