The storm

I am lost in this storm. The wind ripping its claws deep into my skin. Barely able to see two steps in front of me as I am stumbling and crawling through the sand. I must keep treading as it starts to sink dare I stay for longer than a breath. Long gone is the bright oil lamp, long gone is the flashlight, long gone is the flare. All that’s left is a single match stick. I don’t know how much longer it will last. I don’t know if I can hold on to it for much longer, or if the wind will consume its little weak flame. As long as it flickers I must keep going, for if it shall perish, I shall follow.