221 stories ago I wrote this story about my destination being so far away:
Her mind was an arid desert and thoughts slipped through her fingers like sand. She’d walked for months. She was sure she was making progress, but when she looked back she could still see her house. Her destination was so far away it was hidden by the horizon. Her optimism was fading like the sun.
She sat down in the sand and imagined the day when her supplies would run dry and her people would stop caring. It seemed inevitable on such a long journey. In fact she couldn’t believe they’d supported her this far. She was a fraud, and she would fail them in the end.
Things seem very different now.
She’d always thought her supplies would run dry, but now she’d learnt how to make her own. She’d been walking so long she didn’t know what it was like to rest. Would she be able to rest? When she closed her eyes would she dream of walking?