It is hot, blistering even, and I am panting like an animal. The ground is cracked, and it would rather taunt me than beg for relief. It tells me it can handle this, the feel of the heat it retains, while it laughs in derision. I imagine wildly that if everything inanimate had a means of vocalization, they might be screaming. But no, they stand still and silent. Everything here is built to withstand, with the exception of myself. I let out a long sigh - not a cloud in the sky. Not a man in sight. My canteen sloshes unhelpfully with whiskey. Have you ever been drunk in the desert? It feels very rough. It is hard to drink and sweat. I know I am not far though, so I take a swill. I can rehydrate tomorrow morning, well rested and shaded. I estimate one more mile will take me into town. I traipse on slowly, more out of lethargy than caution.
At first I examine this rough terrain. The hard ground is littered with holes. What snakes will plague me in my sleep? I click my tongue in impatience, let them come! I fear no reptiles. Back home a beautiful woman pines for me, but she has no inkling of duty in a man. They never understand - she demands that she will not be left alone. I believe she will punish me, take another, throw herself off the bridge. Ribbons of alice blue, floating on the water. It seems romantic, but no bother. I am a lone man in the desert with nothing to satiate me but my own free will and Tennessee's finest.
There is a certain gentleman swindler in the town I am approaching, and he requires a visit paid. One of us will not live to tell the tale, I assure you. A man with a mean face, a man with a past. While I applaud his deft demeanor and cutthroat tactics, I cannot stand by, idle. There is too much retribution involved. Of course, I do not claim complete piety in this life I've had. I've been led astray far too many times to count, but each time the good old lord welcomes me back into the fold. My piousness may be fickle, but my resolve is ever present. Are good intentions not some sort of payment in themselves? I could buy this town twice over with good intentions, but who would claim this forsaken site? Not I.
My body is beginning to feel the effects of this harsh climate. A flicker of surprise - perhaps I will not make it after all. Preposterous! I am the vigilante, the masked defender of loyalty and other attributes I will choose at a later date. Me, fail? Impossible. Though I tire, I will never rest.
I am the man who saves the child on the runaway horse. I am the man who holds the door, but look again - I am gone. A person of infinite wisdom and energy, a tireless worker in the deep mines of the most eligible ladies hearts'. But I am impossible to attain. The only thing I love in this life is a full cup. I can play any instrument I like with dexterity, I am apt to succeed at any physical feat I condescend to try. Elders would take orders from me, if I was not too humble to give them. I am more than the renaissance man, I am the snake in Adam's tree. I am the asp on Cleopatra's bosom, the poison in the King's ear. I am two shots fired and three lives taken. I am remembered in places I've never been.
At this point I begin to struggle - the sun is directly overhead. Relentless. Though it may be the only thug big enough to bring me down, I look up and directly into it; a dare. I let the surgeon dig four slugs out of my arm with nothing but a stiff drink and a leather strap. The strap remains untouched. The only equal I have is Death, and I feel him coming now. As my limbs begin to fail me, I stumble, maintain, stumble once more.
Down! I breathe in the scent of rusty dirt, decide it's the last thing I'll ever know. The whistling I hear is surely death's approach, the impatient itch to claim his most ardent evader. I welcome him! Let him come, I feel peace here. A woman's voice floats over the distance, and I know it's an angel welcoming me into infinity, or my girl back home saying goodbye. My life flashes before my eyes and I begin to tell her I'm sorry, she's calling out to me -
Novel! Novel!
"NOVEL HENDERSON! If you don't get up off that dirt immediately I swear up to heaven I will call your father at work and we'll see how he feels about you dirtying up those nice clean clothes."
Gingerly I get to my feet as Georgia bustles over. Sharp pats here and there, and now she's got her handkerchief out, rubbing my face, none too gently I might add. She's gained steam in her diatribe, and I'm being steered back toward the house. Apparently if I can't behave myself I can just come help her tidy up inside. Death may have been preferable.
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