Creosote Rain

Waking up, tongue coated in a thick layer of desert sand, wind breathing hot and dry in my face. My face, seemingly glued to the bed of hot sand it must have slept upon. My heart thudding in my chest, ears, and eyes at the inevitable darkness about to blanket them as every previous opening had. I inhale the creosote scented haze of rain, hanging like a theater curtain across the wasteland. My eyes peel themselves apart, breaking the crust holding the corners together. Light! I blink and blink, sure that I must be dreaming. But as the rapid flutter of my eyes ceases, I see them. Two bright, glorious lights, white and blinking beyond the mountains.