"Those aren't rocks"

It's cold, yet I'm standing in bright sunlight in a parched landscape. The wind is gently blowing and the odd tumbleweed or two goes rolling past.

I'm trying to get to a road that leads to a town. The term 'road' is perhaps a little generous for what is nothing more than a dirt track. Still, it's proving very hard to get to as the ground is very loose and uneven with fragments of white rocks and pale yellow sand. It literally is two steps forward, one step backwards trying to walk across this strange surface.

Suddenly my foot catches on something - a gun metal grey lump half submerged in the sand. It looks so out of place that I kneel down to take a closer look and I notice that it is in fact leather, parched dry to a rock like substance by the sun and the heat. I dust some of the sand away and it becomes clear these are in fact a pair of boots. A little more dusting and I clear the sand away from pale bones jutting out of the boots.

Blinking, I turn around to see a tall figure a little way distant sweeping sand into little mounds. I call out to him to ask about the rocks and without turning, he calls back 'Those aren't rocks. They're bones!'

I lift some up in my hands and gently finger the fragments wondering how exactly this came to pass. Were the graves really that shallow?

The end.