He walked through the desert valley as a gust of wind kicked up sand behind him. His spurs clicked as he walked, his duster coat flowing back and forth in the passing wind. He looked ahead as the sky darkened; a sandstorm was headed his way. He pulled on his gloves and pulled up the bandanna he used to cover the lower half of his face. Walking along the sandstorm came closer into view he removed his hat.
He pulled his goggles from his pocket and pulled them on. Pulling his hat back on, he kept walking as the sandstorm engulfed him. He continued on as the sandstorm scraped his duster coat. Grains of sand bounced off his goggles as he trudged through the storm. He could see the demons of his past embodying themselves in the sand. All the killing he did all the lives he destroyed. Was it truly worth all the money that he took for all his deeds?
At the time it might’ve been worth it, but after being chased down by the outlaws after him, seeing the bloodshed. The memory may have been over a decade old, but he still remembered it like it was yesterday. Finally having a chance at a steady life everything changed when he walked through the front door. The mangled bodies hanging from the rafter in the center of the room, the still fresh blood, coated the walls and the floor. The stale scent of iron rose through the air, lingering into his nostrils, the bile rose in his esophagus. He backed up out the door as the bile spewed from his mouth and splattered into the desert sand.
The scent of stale blood still lingered in his nose to this very day, just as the taste of bile lingered in the back of his throat. He continued walking as he emerged unscathed from the sandstorm. Leaving his goggles on he pulled down the bandanna and took a deep breath of the stale air that circulated in the desert. His demons still following him more memories began flooding back. The war, how he was a good soldier, he followed his orders with the utmost respect for all his commanding officers. They were about to storm the land of the enemies when they decide to drop the nuke.
The explosion left thousands dead and even more were left injured. He himself had been wearing a protective armor that kept him safe from radiation. He had seen some of his best friends die that day, many of the men that were killed in the blast he didn’t know. After the first Nuke fell every country involved didn’t hold back. The world’s population was taken down to a very minuscule number that dwindled down over the past fifteen years.
He trudged on as the more recent years came flooding back. He had been responsible for quite a few deaths since his discharge from the Army. He remembered all the times people would find him in the quiet small towns. They’d paid him everything that they had just to see another person’s blood in the sand. By the time each kill had been done he was already on his way to the next town. That is, until he couldn’t kill her. Her name was Abigail, he had been paid a hefty sum by a previous companion of hers to see that she be eliminated. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, the barrel of his gun was pushed against her temple. She hit her knees and began to pray.
He pulled his gun barrel away from her head and extended his hand to help her up. With his payment already received he offered they leave. As soon as they were away, word spread around the remaining towns across the western half of the U.S. Mercenaries that were much more ruthless than he could’ve ever been were after him. They caught up with him at one point when he had stopped in a ghost town in Colorado. He killed two of the seven that followed them and wounded three others. They continued running for another five years, every time they stopped for more than a few days the mercenaries caught up with them.
When they had finally reached what was left of Nevada, the mercenaries had finally stopped chasing them. They had managed to settle down and start a family; he had stepped out to find something worth hunting. When he had returned he saw the bodies of his wife and daughter, beaten, bloody and strung up to the center rafter. He kept walking as he snapped back to reality, pulling out his gun he checked the chamber and saw he had a single bullet left. He saw the run down shack coming up on the horizon. He continued as the sun began to peak in the sky sweat poured off his brow as he trudged on.
He approached the run down shack as the sun softly kissed the horizon, as the sun slowly sunk down he stepped up onto the front porch of the old shack. He walked through the now vacant doorway and remembered how he made his promise, and on this day he had finally fulfilled it. He remembered how he had taken his loving wife and young daughter and buried them out back. He remembered how He swore over their graves that he would take down each mercenary one by one.
Even if it would take him the rest of his life to do so. He walked throughout what was left of the house, he stopped in the living room and knelt down and picked up his daughter’s old rag doll. A slight smile spread across his face. His smile contained a mixture of pain and anguish with a slight reminiscent. He hugged the doll closely as tufts of dust flew out into the air. He stood and stepped outside and placed the doll on his daughter’s grave. He looked over and saw a single daisy growing on his wife’s grave. With a smile he took his gun from his holster and looked down at the two graves he knelt before.
“Forgive me.” He said as he pressed the end of the barrel up to his temple. He squeezed the trigger and with the click of the hammer the shot rang out. His lifeless body hit the ground as the moon rose up into the night sky.
