First place Flasher (in a tight race): Under the Gao Tree, by A.J.

The air, so dry, has made his tongue crack like a piece of old leather. Hacking away at the dirt before sunrise today, he managed to dig up two Gao roots, but when pressed they yielded barely enough moisture to wet his palate, leaving his throat as parched as ever. He doubts he'll make it through ‘till the end of summer - 227 days left, and counting.

Fall. What he wouldn’t do for a crisp autumn day, the wind blowing through the wisps on his head. But would a light breeze mean the end of hair as he once knew it, just like Gao trees can no longer keep their leaves? It used to be they would drop only in times of severe drought, favoring the tiny toxic berries instead. Gao – king of the desert, planted all over as a cheap source of fuel. Fuel for what – now? Even if he could find a car, a truck or an old motorbike, where would he go?

To the source. Find water. Last time he checked for moisture on the river bed, a sudden tide of detritus almost swallowed him up. He thought he’d seen the last of the noxious flux, but some powerhouse up river must have been still active, plowing waste through to the toxic sludge heaps they used to call oceans. He doesn’t go near them anymore. The radiation is much too dangerous for a human, even one like him.

A small heap beside a Gao catches his eye. It looks suspiciously fresh and moist. How can that be?

With his two remaining fingers he scrapes up a small portion, brings it close to what used to be his nose. He doesn’t know what it is, but because it’s soft, almost creamy, he takes a chance and tastes it. It’s not icing or even cake, but it’s not so dry that he can’t mash it up with his gums and get it to the back of his throat for swallowing. Just in case, he scoops the rest of it up and slips it into his feed pouch. It isn’t much, but the way he survives now, a little goes a long way.

He blinks his eye open. All around him the desert shows no other signs of passage: the dust is homogenous on all sides in thick layer that hovers an inch above the ground: like newly fallen snow it never compacts. Dragging one foot forward, the imprint behind him fills up as quickly as if he’d lifted it out of a puddle of water. Water. Can he still remember what that was like?

He blinks again. Now he opens his eye less often than he used to blink two of them closed. Every time he does, his lid scrapes against his cornea like sand is caked between them. Maybe it is; there’s no way to prevent it. Better to keep his eye closed. He’s so used to only seeing in short spurts, he knows he’s not missing much. The world has stopped changing, the only movement a crumbling of the objects upon it, just like his own wretched body. Any more skin flakes off and he’ll have to find something else to protect the flesh beneath it. Why bother, he keeps wondering. Then the question crumbles into the dust around him too. Just because. He is still human.

How much time has gone by since he collected the precious heap? An hour, two? Or were they just minutes, drawn out? He remembers learning that the brain measures time by comparing events, time elapsed during one, as opposed to another. But what if nothing ever happens?

His heart jumps at the sight of a Gao sapling, but he must have sampled it already, its leaves are gone. For him the Gao coming to life is the last miracle on earth: the spindly plant pierces through the parched earth, fully formed, its leaves as sweet and juicy as the fruit are poisonous. He tries to ration himself, make the bounty last, but more often than not, he succumbs and chews through the day, though he knows full well he may never come across any more. One day even the Gao will give up. Everything else has.

Another heap. He almost missed this one, just the tip of it showing above the dust behind the young Gao. It’s the smell that catches his attention this time. Fresh and fragrant, its pungent aroma the only sign of life in the expanse of beige dust. Before putting it away in his pouch with the other one, he allows himself a big dollop. The moisture from the last taste having left a thin film of moisture on his throat, this feels like a spoonful of clotted cream going down. Unctuous and rich.

He’s not going to let himself get excited. It’s happened too many times before. At the slightest sign, a noise, a movement glimpsed, he thinks he’s on the trail of another life-form, close enough to human it could be a companion. Or, at worst, the kind of animal he could nurture as a source of sustenance for a while. He had a dog, once.

The adrenaline rushes through him despite his will to quash the surge. Too much of a good thing. In a burst of excitement he lets himself move at a normal pace, knowing that if he’s wrong, he may never recover from the strain.

When he catches up to it, the beast is placidly poised, chewing on a Gao berry, even as it crouches, preparing to excrete another tasty heap. How has it survived on such a toxic diet? Having tried them, he knows that it only takes a smidgen of the fruit for his own entrails to derail. As if on cue, they begin to churn, but already he feels like they belong to someone else.

As he watches the beast satisfying both his urges at once, an unseasonable light breeze comes and caresses his cheek. He knows a change in the weather isn’t due for months, but for him the timing feels just right.

He smiles at the beast as he lets himself drop, slowly, languorously. The sea of rippling dust reaches up to embrace him. Before he touches the ground it has become a brook of fresh, cool mountain water on a bright summer day. Beneath the glittering surface, he can see clear to the bottom: shiny round pebbles, sleek frisky trout, and the crystalline current as it quivers all around him.

Now, at last, the longing will stop.