Paco Valdez
BV
You shake your head and attempt to hide your disgust as best you can. It smells like age old rancid piss, and it takes a considerable amount of effort not to gag on the offensive odor.
The elders look displeased at your decision not to join them in what is obviously some sort of holy ritual, but they accept your decision and pass the sacred bowl on.
You sit there and watch as all of the men partake in this ritual, while the women sit idly by and watch. The men's eyes soon glaze over and go glassy. They soon get to their feet and begin chanting and moving in an oddly choreographed ancient dance ritual that complements the chaotic beating of the drums.
Witnessing all of this, you find it difficult not to be moved by their enthusiasm and zeal for life.
You stay awake long into the night afterwards, staring at the stars; your heart thumping hard in your chest with excitement.
The next morning you are whished well by the men and women of the village and are told how to get to the next town. You bid them farewell and thank them for taking care of you for the evening and exit the village in the direction they pointed you.
You ride through the desert on the back of your horse for hours; the sun beating down from above with a fury that leads you to believe that its intentions are to burn you alive. You pause regularly in your travel to take from your canteen, and to ensure that Betty, your horse, is supplied with hydration.
As the day progresses into night, you begin wondering if you will ever reach your destination. The Kamanis told you that you would reach the town of Kallow before nightfall. It is very near to nightfall now and you can't help but wonder if your own internal compass is to blame for this, or if the Kamani's intentionally mislead you.
You spend the night in the desert and begin walking along Betty's side in the morning. The sun scorches down on you from above again, and you get the distinct impression that it hates you and finds pleasure in making you suffer. Your stomach growls hungrily throughout the day and you find that you have to put a considerable effort into not drinking down your water.
After a few hours, Betty falls on her side and will not get up. You try to get her to her feet, but after a little struggling you realize what you must do. Though it pains you, you press the barrel of your pistol up against the horse's head, close your eyes and pull the trigger. Betty didn't need to suffer like she did, and shooting her was the merciful thing to do. That's what you tell yourself through out the day, anyway.
It is nearing midday now and you drank the last drop of water from your canteen a few hours ago. You feel your stomach convulsing and you dry heave allot. Your muscles cramp up and you collapse onto the desert floor, writhing in pain. Your mind becomes clouded by deluded thoughts and images of a hallucinatory nature. You know that you are hallucinating, but that doesn't make the demons seem any less real.
After a while the demons disperse while you continue to feel the torturous pain that a severe lack of hydration has given you. Only one figure stands before you, a shadowy and cloaked figure with the head of a skull. He holds a scythe with one hand and beckons you with the other. You recognize him immediately and cannot resist his call.
You rise from your body and follow him into the horizon, leaving all of your pain on the desert floor in the shell which once contained you.
You shake your head and attempt to hide your disgust as best you can. It smells like age old rancid piss, and it takes a considerable amount of effort not to gag on the offensive odor.
The elders look displeased at your decision not to join them in what is obviously some sort of holy ritual, but they accept your decision and pass the sacred bowl on.
You sit there and watch as all of the men partake in this ritual, while the women sit idly by and watch. The men's eyes soon glaze over and go glassy. They soon get to their feet and begin chanting and moving in an oddly choreographed ancient dance ritual that complements the chaotic beating of the drums.
Witnessing all of this, you find it difficult not to be moved by their enthusiasm and zeal for life.
You stay awake long into the night afterwards, staring at the stars; your heart thumping hard in your chest with excitement.
The next morning you are whished well by the men and women of the village and are told how to get to the next town. You bid them farewell and thank them for taking care of you for the evening and exit the village in the direction they pointed you.
You ride through the desert on the back of your horse for hours; the sun beating down from above with a fury that leads you to believe that its intentions are to burn you alive. You pause regularly in your travel to take from your canteen, and to ensure that Betty, your horse, is supplied with hydration.
As the day progresses into night, you begin wondering if you will ever reach your destination. The Kamanis told you that you would reach the town of Kallow before nightfall. It is very near to nightfall now and you can't help but wonder if your own internal compass is to blame for this, or if the Kamani's intentionally mislead you.
You spend the night in the desert and begin walking along Betty's side in the morning. The sun scorches down on you from above again, and you get the distinct impression that it hates you and finds pleasure in making you suffer. Your stomach growls hungrily throughout the day and you find that you have to put a considerable effort into not drinking down your water.
After a few hours, Betty falls on her side and will not get up. You try to get her to her feet, but after a little struggling you realize what you must do. Though it pains you, you press the barrel of your pistol up against the horse's head, close your eyes and pull the trigger. Betty didn't need to suffer like she did, and shooting her was the merciful thing to do. That's what you tell yourself through out the day, anyway.
It is nearing midday now and you drank the last drop of water from your canteen a few hours ago. You feel your stomach convulsing and you dry heave allot. Your muscles cramp up and you collapse onto the desert floor, writhing in pain. Your mind becomes clouded by deluded thoughts and images of a hallucinatory nature. You know that you are hallucinating, but that doesn't make the demons seem any less real.
After a while the demons disperse while you continue to feel the torturous pain that a severe lack of hydration has given you. Only one figure stands before you, a shadowy and cloaked figure with the head of a skull. He holds a scythe with one hand and beckons you with the other. You recognize him immediately and cannot resist his call.
You rise from your body and follow him into the horizon, leaving all of your pain on the desert floor in the shell which once contained you.
