he was so tired.
but he had to keep going.
the desert had the worst way of greeting its inhabitants. its heat was unbearable and the sun burned and cracked his skin.
he had to keep going.
for a second his grip loosened on the pouch in his hands. then it tightened.
he had to keep going, because there was something he needed to give.
the grains of sand glistened, though his eyelids were so dry he could barely notice its blinding quality.
where was he going?
he stopped for a moment and looked around.
it was all barren desert.
shit, he thought.
___________
YOU ARE READING
American Vagrant: A Pulp
Short StoryThe unforgiving world only births the most hardened killers. Joe is just another vagrant of the barren land, wandering about and taking whatever jobs he can. His hands are swift, his aim kills. Of course, his work pisses off the gangs that cross his...
