My throat felt like I had swallowed gravel. I know what your thinking. No, not from booze or too much shouting from a night on the town, although I missed those for sure, no, not from that at all.

My throat felt that way because I’d been on a death walk through the Sahara Desert for God knows how long, and the last time I’d tasted fresh water was some time...yesterday maybe, as I write this. Or perhaps it was the day before that, i forget.

Anyway, the Sahara really is what you’d expect it to be...a desert, and a barren one if you ask me, because I found absolutely nothing of interest...of course, that’s if you actually believe me when I tell you that. In fact, the opposite is true, there, in the Sahara’s, I found everything.

About five days or so after we had to parachute from our plane into that sea of sand, I became separated from my crew. I had hit my head on a rock when I landed, so I’d lost consciousness, and, unfortunately forgotten I had even been with a crew. When I woke, I could only really remember my name.

Looking back on it now, I’m sure that my survival pack wouldn’t have been far from where I’d landed, only my concussion was so strong, that I didn’t even remember I had one of those either.

So when I woke, I rubbed my head and pondered where the hell I was. Confused, thirsty and heated to the point of being cooked, one of the first things I needed was shelter from the sun.

My walk began. My journey. My pilgrimage. My torture. Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days. Fortunately I’d been wise enough to have a water back inside my survival jacket, and so that had kept me going during my battle with the desert.

I was close to dropping when I saw it, and at the time it looked like the most amazing thing I had ever seen. There in the distance, after seeing nothing at all for days, I finally came across a building.

When I got there I was crawling. I had imagined people to be inside, people who would have told me hey man, it’s okay, we have water and food here, come and help yourself. Yeah, right. Just a dream.

Inside there was nothing. It was just an old house that had lost to the sand. Whoever had lived there had long gone, and anything and everything inside had been taken either by them or by the sand.

I collapsed, face in the sand.

When I woke, I remember I couldn’t even swallow, and when I spat sand there was no saliva at all, that was scary as hell.

I couldn’t even muster the energy to stand up at the time, and I had just about admitted defeat.

I heard a noise that brought me back to my frightening reality. I had no idea what that noise was to be honest, until I saw it....

A huge camel, spitting and chewing was staring down at me from near my head. Was I dreaming? Why would a camel be in this abandoned house? Then again, why not? It was damned hot out there.

I’m out of space in this journal, now. I’ll have to find some other way to record the next part. Thank God for camels.