raul
Smash Lord
Hello all,
For those who do not know me, I am Raul, member of the SWF since 2002. In my spare time I do alot of sci-fi writing and am currently working on the series of science-fiction/fantasy novels entitled, The Travels of Ten. I thought I could include an excerpt from a the 2nd story of that series I am currently working on. What is interesting about is, I am debating whether to include in the final manuscript, and I figured this contest would be the best way to get good feedback and criticism. Regardless if I win, I hope this finds you well.
-Raul.
PS-I apologize for the format. It looks 100% better in a Word Document.
Jimmy, James and the Desert Sun
An Excerpt
The Desperado knew what had to be done. He dusted the gray desert sand his from grizzly face and fixed his black, tattered fedora so the brim shielded his eyes from the sun. The bright red star hung relentlessly in the sky, its scorching rays reigning down on all those that dare brave the blistering heat. For three days now the desert sun stayed unbending at what the Desperado considered “high noon” in his world. This place was not like where he had come of age. In this world of endless sands, the sun was king.
“You can hang up there all damn day if ya like,” whispered the Desperado holding his hand over his eyes as he gazed in to the sun, “But you ain’t gonna stop me from what I gotta do.”
Kneeling down, he pulled the pair of silver six shooters from the sand. Swinging the cylinders open, he blew in each bullet chamber, freeing them of dust and debris. The Desperado checked his ammo. Two silver bullets emerged from his pocket, rolling back and forth in his sun-dried palm. He loaded one bullet in each and flicked the cylinder closed, giving each a hardy spin.
“Where they stop, no one knows.”
Grunts and groans from behind startled him, and the Desperado gazed over the edge of the dune. It was the Archer climbing his way back up. He had shed his shirt to reveal his scarred and slashed chest. His hooded cloak flapped in the slight breeze, the blood soaking in, concealing the once vibrant green color. The Archer too, was weakened by the power of the sun. In all his travels, he had never known such temperatures. Was this the center of Hell? No, no this couldn't be so. Hell was a crowded place and this desert was barren of life. Perhaps the truth would be known in his death. Unleashing his sword against the arid air, the Archer decided to finish the brawl, whether he wanted to or not.
“I can go for as long as you like,” shouted the Archer in between breaths.
“Good thing, cause we got all the time in world!” the Desperado shouted back.
The Archer shook his head. They were wanted men. Wanted men always had time against them. The Archer had to end this quickly if he were to remain one step ahead of their captors. He planted his sword in the sands and armed himself with his bow. He took aim at the Desperado’s jugular. His hellish hands were steady, his sweat-covered black hair dripped down on his face, cooling his flesh. He would wait for the Desperado to make the first move.
At the top of the dune, the Desperado had followed the Archer’s lead. He pointed both the revolvers at his counterpart, one gunning for the heart, the other aimed for in between the eyes. His hands clenched the guns, his finger curled around the trigger, ready and waiting. Their captors were gaining ground with each moment that ticked by. Sooner or later, they would be found and probably killed.
“I don’t want to do this James, but if you leave me with no choice, I will do what I have to,” the Archer spoke. He pulled back a little harder on the bow string.
The Desperado replied, “How many time I gotta tell ya? Name’s Jimmy. I don’t know what’s become of that there James fella yer lookin’ for, but I got nothin’ to do with that!”
“Is this the truth you speak?”
“Always partner, always.”
Jimmy Farms wasn’t a liar. He always spoke the truth. What he was unaware of was that he had met the man named James. The desert had fooled with his brain, preventing him from seeing things clearly. It had fatigued him, beaten him, and nearly killed him more than once. The heat has boiled his blood and melted his mind. And through it all he had survived. He could not spend any precious minutes worrying of a man he never knew. His life was on the line, and if he could save himself at the expense of another, he would take that and move on.
“You can’t help anyone when yer dead. Not even yer self.”
The standoff stayed strong for several more minutes. Both men were silent. They had plenty to say, but both knew it would do little good. Guns were armed, arrows were sharp and patience was thin. One well-placed shot could call it day, but it wasn’t the kill they desired. It was their homes they craved. They asked for nothing more than to go home and enjoy the love of their families. But as the desert sun flared tempers it also dissolved away their hopes.
Two bullets. That was what Farms had to work with. He eyed the Archer’s quiver at the base of the dune. He had more than enough arrows to get the job done. The higher ground was not much of an advantage if you couldn’t defend it. He had to think of something and quickly, before more of his strength was sapped from his muscles. He peered down at the sand. He pressed the toe of his leather boot deep. The gray sand was soft, powder like. He watched the breeze slowly push the sand effortlessly. It was time to strike.
Quickly the Desperado aimed both revolvers and fired into the desert. The breeze had picked up enough to send the sands flying all directions. The Archer remained unfazed and kept his eyes and his hands steady. He had seen this before, and knew what was to come. He crouched on one knee and waited. The pace of his heart began to quicken.
Farms slid down the backside of the dune, landing firmly on level dirt. He checked his revolvers for damages. A few scuffs, but nothing to bitch about. The chamber swung open in his right hand. One bullet remained in the chamber, just as planned. He scrapped some sand from his trench coat and began to creep west around the dune.
As he waited in hiding, Farms pondered why the Archer cared for this "James" character. The Archer could handle himself without being bound to anyone. Why waste his time with such a man? What was his purpose to the Archer? It did not matter. For too long he had listened to the Archer and given him trust he did not deserve. No longer would Jimmy Farms, the man who followed no laws but his own, let himself be toyed with. The Archer's time as head honcho had come to a close. He would find his way from this sand covered world with or without the Archer.
The Archer was on the move to the top of the dune. He has bow armed and ready, with another arrow in his teeth. If he was swift to the top, he could spot the Desperado and stop him before he ever got started. But as he reached the top of the dune, there was not trace of the Desperado. No footsteps, no blood, no sweat; it was as if the desert had swallowed him whole. Then, from the west side of the dune, he saw it. He slid down the dune and picked up the black fedora. And before he could react, he felt the barrel of the gun on the back of his neck.
The Desperado emerged from the wall of the dune, a smirk stretched across his face. His plan had work perfectly. And with the gun to the Archer’s neck, it appeared that he would be calling the shots now. He bent over and whispered into the Archer’s ear.
“Looks like I’m the new sheriff in town, partna.”
The Archer whispered back, “I didn’t surrender yet."
With a quick elbow to the sternum, the Archer rolled forward, sprang to his feet, and aimed his arrow at the heart, all before the Desperado could catch his breath. The Archer was through playing games.
“Ya got me,” Jimmy laughed, aiming both his guns back the Archer.
“You had me too,” the Archer smiled.
“That I did, sir that I did.”
“You have one chance, James.”
“Yer back on this James fella again? Ugh. He’s the least of yer problems. You ain’t got a clue as to which gun’s got the goods.”
“Don’t need to know,” the Archer replied as he launched the arrow in to the right hand of the Desperado. He dropped to his knees as he frantically tried to pull the arrow from his flesh. He couldn’t hold back the scream as he finally freed the arrow. The Archer had a plan of his own.
“Yer really testin’ yer luck, don’t ya reckin’?”
“Luck has nothing to do with it. It makes no differences which gun is loaded. You can’t shoot with your left hand.”
Jimmy was quick to holster the first revolver and clench the second with his left hand. Bracing his bleeding fist against his chest, he cocked the hammer back. His left hand was shaking badly. The Archer had made the smart move. He couldn’t kill a dead man with his left hand, let alone fire gun.
“Give me your weapon and this can all be over,” said the Archer. The Desperado nodded his head. He held the revolver facing the sands in his outstretched hand. The Archer walked across and reached for it, but the Desperado evened the score.
The revolver had remained locked and loaded, but the Archer had forgotten this as he reached for the gun. And when his palm came towards the barrel, the Desperado fired the last bullet he had into the good hand of the Archer.
“I heard yer weren’t so good left handed either,” laughed Jimmy.
The Archer wasn’t laughing. He pushed the bullet out of his hand and chucked it across the desert. He may have been without his bow, but not without weapons. He sprang to feet and landed a left hook to the Desperado’s jaw. It knocked him to his back side, where he was immediately greeted with a foot pressing his Adam’s apple.
“You won’t stop me from going home. I’ll end it here if need be, but you better pray it doesn’t come to such,” the Archer hissed.
“You don’t got the fuckin’ guts! Yer yella!”
“Believe me, I don’t want to do it,” the Archer pressed a little hard on the Desperado’s neck, “but you aren’t making it any easier for me James. You’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”
“I ain’t no damn James! Jimmy Farms! That’s me! And I ain’t goin’ no where with ya! I’m done followin’ you around lost all the damn time! I won’t, I swear I won’t!”
“You’ll be killed if you stay here!”
“I’m a wanted man! I’ll decide if I go dead or alive!”
The Archer glared at the Desperado. On the outside it was James Farmer, the man that had helped him escape from the prison gallows of the Orange Creatures. It was the intelligence and quick thinking of James Farmer that had gotten them this far. But something had changed him ever since they first appeared on this land with foreign smells and tastes. The desert sun had worked its magic and worked it well. Everything from the twang in his voice, to the look in his eyes had been changed. No, the Desperado was right, he was not James Farmer. But the Archer had to try just one last time. He grasped Jimmy's face and whispered in his ear.
“Listen to me James. I know you’re in there, somewhere. The desert has cast a spell over you. It’s controlling you, but you can break free! Just listen to me!”
The Desperado closed his eyes. A voice, not his own, but a familiar voice came running through his mind. His heart cycled between racing and seizing. The voice in his head told him to breathe, but he could not.
“You’ve done you’re part Jimmy Farms. Rest your heart and let me take over. I can get us home. Trust me.”
“But I’m not ready to give up!”
“You aren’t giving up Jimmy. Wasting away in this desert till you’re captured again, that’s wasting away. If you want to ever see home again, you’ll trust me. Let me guide us from the Hell and into the arms of out loved ones. Come on Jimmy!”
“All right partna, but you come get me if yer in a mess!”
"Will do Jimmy. You can count on it.”
There were two minds and two hearts living in the one body of James Farmer. The Archer could only guess as to which would be there when he woke. And when he did finally come to, James Farmer reemerged, confused, weary and blood covered.
“How long was I out?”
“Good few hours,” answered the Archer.
“Ahh, fuck. I’m guessing we don’t have any food?”
“Not even a bone to chew on.”
“How far do you think those Orange Creatures are behind us?”
“They’re close. I saw them in the distance on top of the dune. Hopefully, they’re eyes aren’t as sharp as mine.”
“I hope so. I say we double back and head towards the silos.”
“You think we’ll find home where we started?”
“No, no we won’t. But we’ll have an idea of at least where the hell we are.”
“And if we don’t know where we are…”
“How can we find our way home?” finished James.
They gathered the few belongings they had and the travelers set out to find their way back home. They did not discuss their wounds or bruises, it was not important. They kept quiet as they marched back the way they came. Each was lost in their thoughts. And even as they tried to concentrate on other things, the desert sun still tried to play with their minds. For Farmer, it casted images of his far away family. The desert transformed to lush green grass and he saw his little boy, Joseph, playing outside on the swing set, smiling and laughing. He looked so real, but James reminded himself that nothing was real in the desert where the land has been consumed by the morning heat. He felt tears run down his burnt cheeks as he saw his ex-wife, wave to him. He could not stop himself from returning the gesture.
For the Archer, he too was continuously plagued by the desert magic. Around every dune was the ghost of those he had ended by the sword. They taunted him, promising him that they would meet in the fires of the underworld. The Archer did not argue with them. He knew his time would come soon enough. He looked up at the sky. The red sun was on the decline. It would soon be dark and refreshingly cool. He would count every second and minute till then.
Beware the red star. Its magic can warp the souls of weak-minded men. It’ll confuse ‘em; make ‘em think they’re somebody they aren’t.
The words of the only other soul they had seen rang loudly. The advice of the man known as The Rider was true. The star in the sky had changed James. How long would he have to deal with his other side? Would the Desperado completely consume him? Questions without answers. It was becoming the theme of this world. A theme he was not entirely fond of.
“I should have gone back for him,” said James, rolling his fingers in the sand, thinking of the Rider.
“Your bravery would have killed you in the end,” replied the Archer.
“We all gotta die some time.”
In his sleep, the Archer dreamed of his loved ones. He returned to the castle he had sworn to protect. He saw the face of his king, kind and benevolent. He could hear the voice of his mentor, Pennican, as he walked among the great halls. He saw him, standing in the middle of the corridor, bearing a smile.
“You are home old friend, you are home.” Pennican stretched out his wrinkled hand.
Before the Archer could grasp it with his own, warmth rushed over him. It startled him and he woke from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes. He was just in time for sunrise.
The morning came too soon for both the travelers. But nevertheless, they trekked on towards the silos. They could see the massive structures in the distance, about ten miles away. They could tell they were close when the number of gray cacti began to grow. They still had to cautious because they had officially crossed in to enemy territory. The Archer did not appear worried. He was never worried. Always cool, always collective. That was the Archer’s way.
The travelers had tripped the alarm. For moments after they had passed by a large field of cacti, they were surround by some type of hovering vehicles. One by one, Orange Creatures filed out with weapons in hand; ready to use force if necessary. They were trapped on all sides.
“Take my sword,” said the Archer to Farmer.
“And then what?” said James grabbing the sword and gripping it tightly.
“Swing away, Jimmy. Swing away.”
James held the sword in his hand. He wished for bullets, but his leather pouch was as empty as his stomach.
Relax there James. I’ll take over from here.
Jimmy Farms preferred his guns, but they would have been no good to him with his wounded hand. Guess this a good time as any to learn this thing, he thought to himself. He stared in to the eyes of the creatures. They looked blood thirsty. But spilling blood never installed fear into the Desperado. What kind of lawman was he if he was so easily freighted? He hoisted the sword over his head, tilted his fedora over his eyes, and charged at the first ugly prick he saw.
I am the law. And no crimes are victimless.
For those who do not know me, I am Raul, member of the SWF since 2002. In my spare time I do alot of sci-fi writing and am currently working on the series of science-fiction/fantasy novels entitled, The Travels of Ten. I thought I could include an excerpt from a the 2nd story of that series I am currently working on. What is interesting about is, I am debating whether to include in the final manuscript, and I figured this contest would be the best way to get good feedback and criticism. Regardless if I win, I hope this finds you well.
-Raul.
PS-I apologize for the format. It looks 100% better in a Word Document.
Jimmy, James and the Desert Sun
An Excerpt
The Desperado knew what had to be done. He dusted the gray desert sand his from grizzly face and fixed his black, tattered fedora so the brim shielded his eyes from the sun. The bright red star hung relentlessly in the sky, its scorching rays reigning down on all those that dare brave the blistering heat. For three days now the desert sun stayed unbending at what the Desperado considered “high noon” in his world. This place was not like where he had come of age. In this world of endless sands, the sun was king.
“You can hang up there all damn day if ya like,” whispered the Desperado holding his hand over his eyes as he gazed in to the sun, “But you ain’t gonna stop me from what I gotta do.”
Kneeling down, he pulled the pair of silver six shooters from the sand. Swinging the cylinders open, he blew in each bullet chamber, freeing them of dust and debris. The Desperado checked his ammo. Two silver bullets emerged from his pocket, rolling back and forth in his sun-dried palm. He loaded one bullet in each and flicked the cylinder closed, giving each a hardy spin.
“Where they stop, no one knows.”
Grunts and groans from behind startled him, and the Desperado gazed over the edge of the dune. It was the Archer climbing his way back up. He had shed his shirt to reveal his scarred and slashed chest. His hooded cloak flapped in the slight breeze, the blood soaking in, concealing the once vibrant green color. The Archer too, was weakened by the power of the sun. In all his travels, he had never known such temperatures. Was this the center of Hell? No, no this couldn't be so. Hell was a crowded place and this desert was barren of life. Perhaps the truth would be known in his death. Unleashing his sword against the arid air, the Archer decided to finish the brawl, whether he wanted to or not.
“I can go for as long as you like,” shouted the Archer in between breaths.
“Good thing, cause we got all the time in world!” the Desperado shouted back.
The Archer shook his head. They were wanted men. Wanted men always had time against them. The Archer had to end this quickly if he were to remain one step ahead of their captors. He planted his sword in the sands and armed himself with his bow. He took aim at the Desperado’s jugular. His hellish hands were steady, his sweat-covered black hair dripped down on his face, cooling his flesh. He would wait for the Desperado to make the first move.
At the top of the dune, the Desperado had followed the Archer’s lead. He pointed both the revolvers at his counterpart, one gunning for the heart, the other aimed for in between the eyes. His hands clenched the guns, his finger curled around the trigger, ready and waiting. Their captors were gaining ground with each moment that ticked by. Sooner or later, they would be found and probably killed.
“I don’t want to do this James, but if you leave me with no choice, I will do what I have to,” the Archer spoke. He pulled back a little harder on the bow string.
The Desperado replied, “How many time I gotta tell ya? Name’s Jimmy. I don’t know what’s become of that there James fella yer lookin’ for, but I got nothin’ to do with that!”
“Is this the truth you speak?”
“Always partner, always.”
Jimmy Farms wasn’t a liar. He always spoke the truth. What he was unaware of was that he had met the man named James. The desert had fooled with his brain, preventing him from seeing things clearly. It had fatigued him, beaten him, and nearly killed him more than once. The heat has boiled his blood and melted his mind. And through it all he had survived. He could not spend any precious minutes worrying of a man he never knew. His life was on the line, and if he could save himself at the expense of another, he would take that and move on.
“You can’t help anyone when yer dead. Not even yer self.”
The standoff stayed strong for several more minutes. Both men were silent. They had plenty to say, but both knew it would do little good. Guns were armed, arrows were sharp and patience was thin. One well-placed shot could call it day, but it wasn’t the kill they desired. It was their homes they craved. They asked for nothing more than to go home and enjoy the love of their families. But as the desert sun flared tempers it also dissolved away their hopes.
Two bullets. That was what Farms had to work with. He eyed the Archer’s quiver at the base of the dune. He had more than enough arrows to get the job done. The higher ground was not much of an advantage if you couldn’t defend it. He had to think of something and quickly, before more of his strength was sapped from his muscles. He peered down at the sand. He pressed the toe of his leather boot deep. The gray sand was soft, powder like. He watched the breeze slowly push the sand effortlessly. It was time to strike.
Quickly the Desperado aimed both revolvers and fired into the desert. The breeze had picked up enough to send the sands flying all directions. The Archer remained unfazed and kept his eyes and his hands steady. He had seen this before, and knew what was to come. He crouched on one knee and waited. The pace of his heart began to quicken.
Farms slid down the backside of the dune, landing firmly on level dirt. He checked his revolvers for damages. A few scuffs, but nothing to bitch about. The chamber swung open in his right hand. One bullet remained in the chamber, just as planned. He scrapped some sand from his trench coat and began to creep west around the dune.
As he waited in hiding, Farms pondered why the Archer cared for this "James" character. The Archer could handle himself without being bound to anyone. Why waste his time with such a man? What was his purpose to the Archer? It did not matter. For too long he had listened to the Archer and given him trust he did not deserve. No longer would Jimmy Farms, the man who followed no laws but his own, let himself be toyed with. The Archer's time as head honcho had come to a close. He would find his way from this sand covered world with or without the Archer.
The Archer was on the move to the top of the dune. He has bow armed and ready, with another arrow in his teeth. If he was swift to the top, he could spot the Desperado and stop him before he ever got started. But as he reached the top of the dune, there was not trace of the Desperado. No footsteps, no blood, no sweat; it was as if the desert had swallowed him whole. Then, from the west side of the dune, he saw it. He slid down the dune and picked up the black fedora. And before he could react, he felt the barrel of the gun on the back of his neck.
The Desperado emerged from the wall of the dune, a smirk stretched across his face. His plan had work perfectly. And with the gun to the Archer’s neck, it appeared that he would be calling the shots now. He bent over and whispered into the Archer’s ear.
“Looks like I’m the new sheriff in town, partna.”
The Archer whispered back, “I didn’t surrender yet."
With a quick elbow to the sternum, the Archer rolled forward, sprang to his feet, and aimed his arrow at the heart, all before the Desperado could catch his breath. The Archer was through playing games.
“Ya got me,” Jimmy laughed, aiming both his guns back the Archer.
“You had me too,” the Archer smiled.
“That I did, sir that I did.”
“You have one chance, James.”
“Yer back on this James fella again? Ugh. He’s the least of yer problems. You ain’t got a clue as to which gun’s got the goods.”
“Don’t need to know,” the Archer replied as he launched the arrow in to the right hand of the Desperado. He dropped to his knees as he frantically tried to pull the arrow from his flesh. He couldn’t hold back the scream as he finally freed the arrow. The Archer had a plan of his own.
“Yer really testin’ yer luck, don’t ya reckin’?”
“Luck has nothing to do with it. It makes no differences which gun is loaded. You can’t shoot with your left hand.”
Jimmy was quick to holster the first revolver and clench the second with his left hand. Bracing his bleeding fist against his chest, he cocked the hammer back. His left hand was shaking badly. The Archer had made the smart move. He couldn’t kill a dead man with his left hand, let alone fire gun.
“Give me your weapon and this can all be over,” said the Archer. The Desperado nodded his head. He held the revolver facing the sands in his outstretched hand. The Archer walked across and reached for it, but the Desperado evened the score.
The revolver had remained locked and loaded, but the Archer had forgotten this as he reached for the gun. And when his palm came towards the barrel, the Desperado fired the last bullet he had into the good hand of the Archer.
“I heard yer weren’t so good left handed either,” laughed Jimmy.
The Archer wasn’t laughing. He pushed the bullet out of his hand and chucked it across the desert. He may have been without his bow, but not without weapons. He sprang to feet and landed a left hook to the Desperado’s jaw. It knocked him to his back side, where he was immediately greeted with a foot pressing his Adam’s apple.
“You won’t stop me from going home. I’ll end it here if need be, but you better pray it doesn’t come to such,” the Archer hissed.
“You don’t got the fuckin’ guts! Yer yella!”
“Believe me, I don’t want to do it,” the Archer pressed a little hard on the Desperado’s neck, “but you aren’t making it any easier for me James. You’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”
“I ain’t no damn James! Jimmy Farms! That’s me! And I ain’t goin’ no where with ya! I’m done followin’ you around lost all the damn time! I won’t, I swear I won’t!”
“You’ll be killed if you stay here!”
“I’m a wanted man! I’ll decide if I go dead or alive!”
The Archer glared at the Desperado. On the outside it was James Farmer, the man that had helped him escape from the prison gallows of the Orange Creatures. It was the intelligence and quick thinking of James Farmer that had gotten them this far. But something had changed him ever since they first appeared on this land with foreign smells and tastes. The desert sun had worked its magic and worked it well. Everything from the twang in his voice, to the look in his eyes had been changed. No, the Desperado was right, he was not James Farmer. But the Archer had to try just one last time. He grasped Jimmy's face and whispered in his ear.
“Listen to me James. I know you’re in there, somewhere. The desert has cast a spell over you. It’s controlling you, but you can break free! Just listen to me!”
The Desperado closed his eyes. A voice, not his own, but a familiar voice came running through his mind. His heart cycled between racing and seizing. The voice in his head told him to breathe, but he could not.
“You’ve done you’re part Jimmy Farms. Rest your heart and let me take over. I can get us home. Trust me.”
“But I’m not ready to give up!”
“You aren’t giving up Jimmy. Wasting away in this desert till you’re captured again, that’s wasting away. If you want to ever see home again, you’ll trust me. Let me guide us from the Hell and into the arms of out loved ones. Come on Jimmy!”
“All right partna, but you come get me if yer in a mess!”
"Will do Jimmy. You can count on it.”
There were two minds and two hearts living in the one body of James Farmer. The Archer could only guess as to which would be there when he woke. And when he did finally come to, James Farmer reemerged, confused, weary and blood covered.
“How long was I out?”
“Good few hours,” answered the Archer.
“Ahh, fuck. I’m guessing we don’t have any food?”
“Not even a bone to chew on.”
“How far do you think those Orange Creatures are behind us?”
“They’re close. I saw them in the distance on top of the dune. Hopefully, they’re eyes aren’t as sharp as mine.”
“I hope so. I say we double back and head towards the silos.”
“You think we’ll find home where we started?”
“No, no we won’t. But we’ll have an idea of at least where the hell we are.”
“And if we don’t know where we are…”
“How can we find our way home?” finished James.
They gathered the few belongings they had and the travelers set out to find their way back home. They did not discuss their wounds or bruises, it was not important. They kept quiet as they marched back the way they came. Each was lost in their thoughts. And even as they tried to concentrate on other things, the desert sun still tried to play with their minds. For Farmer, it casted images of his far away family. The desert transformed to lush green grass and he saw his little boy, Joseph, playing outside on the swing set, smiling and laughing. He looked so real, but James reminded himself that nothing was real in the desert where the land has been consumed by the morning heat. He felt tears run down his burnt cheeks as he saw his ex-wife, wave to him. He could not stop himself from returning the gesture.
For the Archer, he too was continuously plagued by the desert magic. Around every dune was the ghost of those he had ended by the sword. They taunted him, promising him that they would meet in the fires of the underworld. The Archer did not argue with them. He knew his time would come soon enough. He looked up at the sky. The red sun was on the decline. It would soon be dark and refreshingly cool. He would count every second and minute till then.
Beware the red star. Its magic can warp the souls of weak-minded men. It’ll confuse ‘em; make ‘em think they’re somebody they aren’t.
The words of the only other soul they had seen rang loudly. The advice of the man known as The Rider was true. The star in the sky had changed James. How long would he have to deal with his other side? Would the Desperado completely consume him? Questions without answers. It was becoming the theme of this world. A theme he was not entirely fond of.
“I should have gone back for him,” said James, rolling his fingers in the sand, thinking of the Rider.
“Your bravery would have killed you in the end,” replied the Archer.
“We all gotta die some time.”
In his sleep, the Archer dreamed of his loved ones. He returned to the castle he had sworn to protect. He saw the face of his king, kind and benevolent. He could hear the voice of his mentor, Pennican, as he walked among the great halls. He saw him, standing in the middle of the corridor, bearing a smile.
“You are home old friend, you are home.” Pennican stretched out his wrinkled hand.
Before the Archer could grasp it with his own, warmth rushed over him. It startled him and he woke from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes. He was just in time for sunrise.
The morning came too soon for both the travelers. But nevertheless, they trekked on towards the silos. They could see the massive structures in the distance, about ten miles away. They could tell they were close when the number of gray cacti began to grow. They still had to cautious because they had officially crossed in to enemy territory. The Archer did not appear worried. He was never worried. Always cool, always collective. That was the Archer’s way.
The travelers had tripped the alarm. For moments after they had passed by a large field of cacti, they were surround by some type of hovering vehicles. One by one, Orange Creatures filed out with weapons in hand; ready to use force if necessary. They were trapped on all sides.
“Take my sword,” said the Archer to Farmer.
“And then what?” said James grabbing the sword and gripping it tightly.
“Swing away, Jimmy. Swing away.”
James held the sword in his hand. He wished for bullets, but his leather pouch was as empty as his stomach.
Relax there James. I’ll take over from here.
Jimmy Farms preferred his guns, but they would have been no good to him with his wounded hand. Guess this a good time as any to learn this thing, he thought to himself. He stared in to the eyes of the creatures. They looked blood thirsty. But spilling blood never installed fear into the Desperado. What kind of lawman was he if he was so easily freighted? He hoisted the sword over his head, tilted his fedora over his eyes, and charged at the first ugly prick he saw.
I am the law. And no crimes are victimless.
