Water. That was the first thing the man thought upon waking. Water. Clean, fresh, pure water. Water that could quench the seemingly endless thirst, water that could quell the temptation of  taking a sip of the black stream that slithered past him, as poisonous as a deadly viper, coiled and ready to strike.
           It was torture, this barren, roofless cave; the dry air abuse on the mans parched, cracking lips and sandy throat. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, burning his already blistering brown skin to a crisp. He had been here two days, trapped under the relentless heat.  The man feared he would not survive another. He prayed that people where looking for him, that he was not deserted in this desert. Never had he felt so alone or afraid. Afraid of not being found, afraid of the snake stream, afraid of the swirling skies and the winds that whispered promises of death. He missed cold; he missed rain and sound and car alarms and most of all water. Clean, fresh, pure water. Water that could quench the seemingly endless thirst.
        The venomous water-serpent curled around his lips, and slithered in.