SEQUENCE TWO:
END OF THE ROAD

CREATIVE DIRECTION: MARNE SCHWARTZ
PHOTOGRAPHY: PAUL MOREL
FASHION DIRECTION: ANNA CASTAN
HAIR: JORDAN ROBERTSON
MAKEUP: MELANIE MEYER
MODEL: MARIANNE FONSECA / FORD
WORDS: ALISSA THOMAS

At dawn, she’ll walk. Before the sun. By noon the sky is venomous. She hurries her faithful nomad. Slowly, too slowly, he gathers tracks. Slip, slip, slip into the wispy dunes. She follows the sky due north, as she was told to. There’s a town not far, the woman had whispered. She gave her some cold water, a clean towel. She wiped the dry dirt from her eyes. She believed her when she sold her the map. It was torn, outdated but it was all she had. Wise eyes and weathered skin, she told her to follow the dunes until her shadow disappears. When the sun is high, you must find shelter, she said. Take cover. She was grateful. Scared. Desperate. But determined. The woman carefully folded a wrap of white silk and placed it in her hands. A cocoon from the violent glare, she said. Some small mercy. The wind was beginning to wake, so she had to start towards the horizon. Onward. Onward. Onward. Endlessly onward. She sifted and shifted through the salty, vapid dunes, her silk swatting like a ragged, flailing flag behind her. Then, like an apparition, a road appears. A dusty, gravel track. An Acacia tree. An electrical tower. She swigs from her dusty flask, the water is warm, gritty. Her nomad rears, and she tugs at the reigns. She breathes out then looks below. Her shadow is getting shorter.