The Pessemist

An entry for Cards Against Authors week 2 prompt (January 13th, 2026).

I've been wandering this stupid desert for hours now,
A monotonous dread beats into my bones with every step.
I woke up, and as soon as I did, the stingy,
heavy heat of the sun began beating on my back.

Of course, this happened to me;
Nothing good ever happens to me.

As my tired, blistering feet trudge on,
a small lake comes into view,
planted in the dry sand.

It's probably a mirage,
Just my luck, my mind is making things up now.
I knew I'd be going insane soon enough.

I trudge along.

It grows before my eyes as I inch closer.
A tree of irritation takes root in my stomach and blooms into my chest.
Stupid brain, there is no water, dammit.

I turn slightly away from the water, the mirage,
and I speed up, hoping to walk past it.
I don't need stupid, made-up water anyway.

It continues to increase in my peripherals
As I inch my way past it, dragging my feet.
My mind must really be playing tricks on me.

I turn away from it completely,
I won't even look at it.

I trudge along.

The tree of irritation twists and turns
into something of worry and fear.
I turn around, and as I do,
The water hits me, a wave taller than my own self.

As I drown, I choke, I suffocate,
In my ear, I hear someone whisper,
"Should have drank the water, asshole."

Line count: 32
Poetry form: Free verse.
Prompt: "Week 2 Prompt Jan 12-18 2026"