Paco Valdez
BI
You dig your heels into Betty's flank and ride out of the stables, and out of town with a reckless abandon.
You ride for hours, Betty becoming exhausted from the pace she's been keeping. You decide to rest her least she cramps up.
You dismount and pull the canteen from the saddle bags, taking a few sips for you and pouring some into your palm for your horse.
You look around, squinting as the sun pierces your eyes. You wipe sweat from your brow and continue to search for a familiar landmark so that you can get your bearings.
But nothing around you is recognizable. Nothing is familiar. You mount back up and ride at a less frantic pace through the desert. You're not sure where you are headed or which direction leads to safety. For all you know, you muse, you could be trotting around in one big circle.
Hours later Betty drops to the desert floor, dehydrated and dying.
You walk on, sipping occasionally from the canteen so that you don't suffer the same fate as your horse. But eventually the canteen runs out and you are still nowhere near familiar territory.
Eventually you find that you can move no farther, and you fall to the hot desert sand while the sun burns on relentlessly. Death comes as a welcome relief from the heat, the cramping, delirium.
You dig your heels into Betty's flank and ride out of the stables, and out of town with a reckless abandon.
You ride for hours, Betty becoming exhausted from the pace she's been keeping. You decide to rest her least she cramps up.
You dismount and pull the canteen from the saddle bags, taking a few sips for you and pouring some into your palm for your horse.
You look around, squinting as the sun pierces your eyes. You wipe sweat from your brow and continue to search for a familiar landmark so that you can get your bearings.
But nothing around you is recognizable. Nothing is familiar. You mount back up and ride at a less frantic pace through the desert. You're not sure where you are headed or which direction leads to safety. For all you know, you muse, you could be trotting around in one big circle.
Hours later Betty drops to the desert floor, dehydrated and dying.
You walk on, sipping occasionally from the canteen so that you don't suffer the same fate as your horse. But eventually the canteen runs out and you are still nowhere near familiar territory.
Eventually you find that you can move no farther, and you fall to the hot desert sand while the sun burns on relentlessly. Death comes as a welcome relief from the heat, the cramping, delirium.
