text: Rena`e Simone Jones My Last Meal Artwork cover is from website - http://www.smh.com.au - I do not own the rights to this public picture. 
   
   
     
   The red dust blew up around me, settling on my hair and shoulders. I couldn’t muster the energy to brush it off; I was malnourished and dehydrated. I hadn’t eaten for days, my stomach seemed permanently glued to my spine; it gave another ominous sounding gurgle. 
  I glanced around, trying to notice the landmarks. Had I passed these before? I only hoped that I was not going in circles in this barren desert. 
  The trees offered little hope. Even they looked hungry, spindly branches and dried leaves bowed to the ground in hopeless defeat. 
  My shoes are little more than rags, half covering my blistered feet, my face and arms also blistered from the relentlessly bright sun. 
  I thought about what had gotten me into this dreaded position. I am a tourist in this beautiful island country, even the red desert looks ruggedly stunning, as I drove along the long Nullabor Plain.  
  My plan had been to drive from South Australia to Western Australia, where my fellow tourists had caught the plane. 
  I thought this would be the ultimate Australian experience, the chance to prove to my family back home that I was daring and brave. I am not feeing too brave right now, in fact I'm feeling decidedly weak. Who would have thought that this country would have to power to break your soul? 
  I have known for the past two days that I would probably die. There is that faint hope, however, that I would make it to one of the few roadhouses along the way. 
  That hope was all gone now. I knew, and my stomach knew, that I would not make it beyond the next few hours unless I found food or water. 
  The horizon is shimmering in front of me, I feel like I'm underwater and no more trees made a break in the view. My sweat dries the instant it seeps out of my pores and my cracked lips tasted of salt. All I could think about now is water and food. 
  I stumble and fall over, landing hard on the ground. What had tripped me up, my own feet? 
  Looking around myself slowly, I saw a mound of fur. I had missed it because the colour had blended into the red dust covering the ground. What the hell was it? 
  At the moment I didn’t care, all I could think was that I am starving. 
  I crawled over to the animal and dug my fingers hard into the furry mound. I pulled back and came away with streaming red meat. I shoved it in my mouth and chewed. It tasted raw, but delicious to my fevered mind. I ate until I was full. The fluids from the animal had also helped to quench my thirst a bit. 
  I had enough strength now to stand up and take a good look at the animal, to see what I've eaten. I had ate what?! It was a bloody kangaroo. 
  I fought hard to keep the bile from rising, but it was no good. Everything I had just eaten came right back up in a painful and wet mess. 
  Not only had I just lost the food I desperately needed, I didn’t think I could go back to the kangaroo and consciously eat the raw, and possibly, spoiled meat. 
  I turned around and stared into the red horizon.  
  It would be freezing in a few hours once darkness descended; a weird paradox for a scorching desert. I knew without the ability to eat, even when I was starving, that I wouldn’t go past beyond this night. I was so exhausted I could only dredge up the faintest sense of grief and sadness. 
  My legs finally gave up and collapsed on me. The red sand came up to meet me, a harsh unforgiving grave, as I knew that it would be. This would be my final resting place. No one would ever find my bleached and eroded bones: they don’t know where I am. It would still be a few days before my fellow travellers would miss me.   
  One of my regrets is that my parents will waste the rest of their lives wondering where I am, or if I am still alive.  
  I’ll also never have my own family, build a career or form new and lasting relationships with friends. I can only hope that there is such a thing as reincarnation, and that I can come back and live life a different way.  
  My throat is parched and I can’t even feel my tongue anymore. The pain is fading away from my blistered skin and sores on my feet, as the cold of the night arrives. I can barely feel the caress of the wind now howling around me. 
  I close my eyes and fall into the darkest of nights.  
   
   
   Publication Date: November 17th 2009 https://www.bookrix.com/-renaesimone