In the Sahara Desert, there lived a man. His name was Lumanax, and he found no pleasure in life. He dreaded the future and doubted love. Fulfillment had vacated him, leaving scars of forgotten aspirations. Once, living in a distant memory, he had loved abundantly and joyed endlessly. Portraits of beautiful happiness had been a mirror to life instead of a mocking to the present.

He lived on a small forgotten farm, with his young sister. To avoid the future he had developed a plan for himself that he followed each and every day. He would wake up and venture out to his farm. He would plow until twelve, tend to the animals until five, and after dinner he would escape to his room. During the time he spent in his room, he would write about a better place and the things he longed for.

Writing was the one and only pleasure he found contending. It flowed, but it challenged. Long hours where spent expressing lush thoughts onto rigid paper. The words didn't disappoint him and in return he did the same for them.

After a while he grew tired of his rutein and longed for something different. He wished for change, but could not except the future. Wanting, but not knowing how to betray the at hand.

Finally change decided to charity him. It expanded his farm and granted him love. The farm brought more profit in than ever before and his heart streched with the passion it bore. His beloved, Nyssa, had beauties and rarities that fell numerous. But yet his doubts still lingered, misty in the eyes of the existing.

"Lumanax, what would you like for dinner?" Nyssa called over the fence. Her hair danced around her image in a rhythmic flow just like the long grasses in the dunes danced in the sweet breeze, framing the ocean of a face.

"I don't care Nyssa, whatever pleases you will suit me just fine," he smiled as the words seeped out of him.

"I can't make all of the decisions around here, Lumanax, " she said with a sigh.

"I know." Lumanax strode over to the fence and jumped over. He landed with a thud next to Nyssa, snatching up her hand and spinning her around in a full twist. Her soft golden laughter filled the air circling her frame and bouncing on the billows of her dress, momentarily stuck in a lovely pirouette.

"Lumanax stop!" a playful voice called from the not too distant porch. A small figure could be seen skipping toward them. Lumanax let go off the spinning Nyssa and nelt to hug his young sister, sierra, picking her up in a strong embrace. He set her down tentatively and picked two flowers.

"Have I ever told you about the dafidill?" he asked with a sly smirk as he tucked one of the flowers into her bronze curls. She giggled and reached up to feel lit curiously.

"Yes! Lumanax, you know that. You told me only yesterday!" she proclaimed.

"You are right, but did I tell you about the part where it is only given to the most beautiful girls in all the land?" She laughed, letting him win.

"No!" Seirra smiled a lovely grin. Lumanax stood and placed the second dafidill in Nyssa's hair.

"Only the most beautiful," he whispered.

"Well now Seirra, since your big brother here can't seem to make up his mind about what to eat, we're going to have to figure it out ourselves it seems. But don't worry, we'll make our favorite."

"Yeah, mud pies and dandelion soup," Sierra giggled.

"What am I going to do with you girls." Lumanax swooped down and picked up Sierra. He embraced Nyssa's hand and guided her into the house while carrying Seirra.

Nyssa was fair, but unlucky. She had beautiful honey hair and a sweet smile, but she was sick. She had not told Lumanax because she knew he would not except that she would die within time. He started to notice her failing strength, but never questioned. Two years passed and time did not slow. It wore down the couple and his lover's sickness doubled, yet she would not tell.

Eventually she felt her last threads breaking and her breaths shortening. So she wrote him a letter and slipped away. Lumanax cried for her. He read her letter. It told him that she hadn't wanted to hurt him, only protect him from the future like he had always done for her. It informed him that she loved him and thought it time to finally except what is yet to come.

In his sorrow, he ran. He ran from the future and the past, from the life he knew. As he ran he quickened, escaping whatever he wanted, over time. The animals started to become accustom to seeing him, no longer was he a stranger to the eye but a disguised mystery. He began to hunt and prey on small creatures he found abundant around him. Features became more and more define in his expression. His face had long marks from crying, the tears had left him a scar to remember his love. He had slowly become an animal. Running on all fours and covered in fur. The fur camouflaged him, hiding his fear and eclipsing the present.

One day he stopped his endless run. He examined himself and found he did not know who he was. He had become a stranger to even himself. He created a new species, but forgot himself in the process. He had become the cheetah without a past.