My first awareness is the sharp press of cracked pebbles pushed into my face. I move my arms in vain and random movement and scratch my hands against the rough dirt. Lifting my head free of the dry ground, the pebbles wound me anew as I grimace. The facial movement nudges them free from my pocked face and they fall back to the ground.
Once more into the salt flats, I think to myself. But as I get up to my knees, I note the complete absence of the scent of salt. No, this isn’t there, but it’s just as dry. I look around carefully, trying to orientate myself.