Stories From A Dead World, No. 2

FROM LIVE THE END [AUTHOR:John Cappernal]

Untitled 

The gates of the city. A pair of guards stop a single stranger. He’s carrying a gun. Three actually, and a sword. He’s a mound of scars and scarves. He’s been through hell and he’s been back. When he speaks it sounds like sand talking. When he walks it's as though he doesn’t move. Nobody knows quite what he is or where he’s from. He’s a drifter. He’s not alone in his profession, but he’s alone in every other way. The guns stay in their holsters, the sword in its sheath. He’s not looking for trouble; he’s looking for a home. Too bad it isn’t here. 

A girl glances up. She cleans the blood from her hands and holsters her gun. She’s alone. She tough, but not a drifter. She’s found her home and a single glance tells him so. The drifter slides back to the gate and turns on his heel. The sand shushes around him. The clouds sink around the sun. The girl gives him one last glance and looks back to the open ribcage of someone who crossed her. There’s a wallet in a bloodstained pocket, and at least a few days left to live. Life is currency and currency is worthless when nobody cares for it. 

The desert doesn’t end. The sun burns and the sand continues. The drifter walks. He stumbles along. He passes along until he comes to a new place. New gates, new guards, an old face. The same three guns, the same sword. The same voice and boots. The same girl and the same glance and the same turn and all around in a circle again. Life is currency and currency is worthless if nobody spends it. 

Hours are long and nobody’s wanting. 

Nights are cool and nobody’s watching.

Doors are closed and nobody’s waiting. 

Nobody waits for drifters. Nobody cares for drifters. They walk. They stumble along. They pass along until they come to a new place. New gates, new guards, old faces. Same guns, same sword, same voice and boots and girl and glance and sand and wind. Drifters walk. They stumble along. Eventually they find a place. They become everyone else. Just the same as everyone else. Just as sad. Just as still. They don’t walk. They just stumble, and cry. Just the same as everyone else.