A Horse With No Name

The year is 2059, and the world is ravaged with corruption. Earth's resources run dry after World War Three, a devastating blow to millions of families across the world. Food riots break out, people starve, while the rich countries refuse to donate. Global warming begins to take effect, especially in the warmer regions, in what used to be called Africa. Heavy droughts suffocate them, and slavery returns, more ugly and cruel than ever. Samia Jasmine walks the land once called the Sahara, now know

Samia Jasmine struggled through the swirling sand, the vicious wind flung it mercilessly against her face, each grain stung like a whiplash. She pulled the rough rope, straining against the horse's neck. He wouldn't move.

"Please!" she begged aloud, "Just.... move!"

But the horse blinked balefully at her with long-lashed, molten honey eyes. It frisked and snorted for a moment, as if spooked by something, and then promptly stood stock still. Samia sighed; from experience, this horse wasn't going to budge for another two hours at least. Squinting, she glanced back into the approaching sandstorm and decided fast; sandstorms in the Kifa Ardhi were not something to take risks with. She crouched low on the sandy floor, dragging her veil across her face and waited for it to pass.

About a meter away, the horse stood, facing towards the oncoming storm, unwavered by it ferociosity.

Meanwhile she remembered.

The End

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