You are standing in the desert, on top of a sand dune, and you can see the sun rising. You can feel it's dessicating rays and its warmth and its love. The desert is its child. Creatures live here in the sand, and some of them are pure and some of them are foul, but it loves them all, and they feel the heat. They live to avoid the heat of its love. Its love is too intense. It burns, it dries, it shatters.

And as the sun rises you can feel it starting, static in your toes, and you glance down and see that your feet are made of sand, and as the sun rises and its rays slowly caress your body from the top downwards the sand is rising up through your body to meet it. You can't feel your legs anymore. Your jeans hang there, like clothes on a scarecrow. It moves slowly up your body as the sun rises lazily. It's moving through your body, and you can hear it crying "Be free, be free", and it's creeping up your neck, and it is taking your eyes, and then you're all sand. You can feel the sun's warmth and love on you, and as the wind blows you to meet the dunes you know that this is how it was meant to be. For a while your clothes just lie there, on the top of the dune, not understanding, until a passer-by picks them up, to sell to somebody else.