lynx-eyed

I've got an idea for a novel/short story/project. It's something vague, but I'm feeling it.

Largely inspired by John the Baptist, Showbread, and Janie's "Age of Reptiles Excerpt", which I've printed out and shall now carry in my notebook, alongside the other printed sheets of bliss.

Here's my first shot in the dark.

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b13; 03 Victus:::?
Sunrise like a bleeding scab today. I can feel the air more every day. The rocks are speaking.

When I look behind me I see the blood of my feet. The leather was eaten long ago by the sand, and the stones are sharp.

At night I hear them coming, rustling, scraping across the sun-baked floor of this god-forsaken desolation. The rocks tell me they are not far behind. I must keep moving.

This place is truly forsaken by the gods. They dared not follow me into this field of embers. They have sent lesser, fouler beings after me. I can hear them scraping.

Each day they are closer, or louder, or my hearing grows sharper. But the rocks grow quieter.

I can see something on the horizon, but the vitreous air keeps my hope in a cage. Still, there is something. Call me lynx-eyed. Call me Jonas.