SANDS OF DELUSION 

By Tessa Harvey


"Dad, dad, wake up!" Jaxon, disoriented, looked at the sleep-rumpled face of his son. The boy was also frowning in anxiety. "Dad, you have to stop this. You have to get help!" Max declared.
"Sorry, son, you are right. I will!" Jaxon looked around at the tossed-around bedding. Glancing at the window, he could see it was almost morning. "Fine, I'll ring Poppa."
    His dad was good at counselling. It was his life's work. He was a pastor at a church close by, in the next town. His dad, Steve promised to come over later that day. He didn't ask unnecessary questions.
    After lunch, he waved goodbye to his beloved wife, Sylvia and set off in his little green car. It was a clear, cool late autumn day and the leaves of the poplars were silver and gold. A breeze was setting them spinning and dancing.
    The sky was a merging sea of blues infinitely beautiful, patterning round cloud islands, white and cream.
    Steve was looking forward to seeing his son and grandson, aware of their sadness, aware of the great loss they had sustained.
    The pain hit Steve without warning, all-powerful, all-consuming. His car headed, a small green bomb veering into the opposite lane. With an incredible effort, he wrenched the wheel round, lodging it firmly to the left, where it ran off the road. He did not feel the impact. He was not aware of it at any level.
    The man Steve Reynolds had been was gone, leaving only his bodily shell behind, crumbled behind the wheel. Saving lives as he died, Steve had left a legacy of very many saved lives.


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