The Inevitable Fate of the Insufferable Outlaw

Somewhere in a perilous desert, a hardened outlaw squinted toward the horizon. The rolling dunes were bathed in the warm glow of sunset, and the sky above stretched endlessly. Silence pressed against his eardrums as blood seeped through his shirt from a deep gash under his protruding ribcage. This would be a good time to panic if he wasn’t too weak to do so. His—

“Hey! You.”

“Yes, I’m talking to you, typing away on that damn keyboard like some trigger-happy sadist.”

“Is this meant to be a Western? Do you know anything about writing a Western?”

The silence pressed against his eardrums as blood seeped through his shirt from a deep gash under his protruding ribcage. This would be a good time to panic if he wasn’t too weak to do so. His trusty steed was dead, his partner in crime long gone, and he didn’t know his north from his south.

There seemed to be no way out of this predicament.

“What’s the deal here, dude? You’ve got me stranded in a desert, bleeding, staring into the sunset. Don’t leave me here to die, man—throw a guy a bone, would you?”

Before the querulous outlaw could wallow further in self-pity, something hit him with great force on his forehead.

“OUCH! What the actual…?"

The object bounced off him and fell to the ground. Picking it up, his face stinging from the blow, he inspected what appeared to be the remains of an animal carcass. He—

"Wait a minute! What kind of writer are you—don’t you understand a simple metaphor?”

“What the hell am I meant to do with a literal bone? Gnaw on it for the calcium?

“Ok, here's an idea, seeing as you can't come up with any good ones. How about you make this a daytime thing so at least I'm not left here bleeding in the dark."

The sun blazed high up in the endless desert sky, scorching the insufferable outlaw’s weather-worn skin.

“I see what you did there, turning up the heat, you sadistic son of a—”

The sweat drenched his body and trickled into his bloody wound, causing a painful burning sensation. Although it hurt like hell, the sweat would likely save him from an infection.

"Oh, gee, thanks. One less thing to worry about, right? Assh—"

The foul-mouthed outlaw knew he needed to find a water source, or he would surely die a slow and agonising death out in the elements.

As if by magic, a pool of water appeared in the distance, glittering invitingly.

"Now that's more like it. And this had better not be a trick."

With a renewed sense of hope, the sunburnt and bloodied outlaw dragged his feeble body along the ground, sand scratching his elbows and grinding into his wound.

Breathless and lethargic from the effort, he finally made it to the small oasis. Without hesitation, his body in desperate need of hydration, he plunged his face into the pool. But instead of the cool, refreshing water, he found himself choking on a mouthful of sand.

“The ‘water mirage’? Really? That is such a cliché. Some imagination you have there.”

“Come on, buddy, I’m dyin’ of thirst here.”

The pool of water glittered invitingly, but the ungrateful outlaw eyed it with suspicion. His dry, cracked lips, a reminder of his dehydration, prompted him to investigate the water source. With some trepidation, he dragged his feeble body along the ground, sand scratching his elbows and grinding into his wound. Breathless and lethargic from the effort, he finally made it to the small oasis. He approached the water cautiously, testing it with his hand. Relieved when he felt the dampness on his skin, he submerged his face in the cool, murky water and lapped it up greedily.

“Lapped it up? What am I, a dog?”

“You should quit while you’re ahead, man, this story isn’t going anywhere.”

“Oh, and cheers for the water—I guess.”

The reckless outlaw dove headfirst into the water, which proved deeper than he expected. Forgetting that he couldn’t swim, he sank deeper and deeper into the muddy waters.

“Hang on! I know how to swim, you fool.”

Remembering that he could, in fact, swim, the egregious outlaw kicked his way up with the last bit of strength he could muster. Breaking the surface with a dramatic gasp of air, he swam to the water’s edge. Getting a good grip, he was ready to pull himself out when he felt something brush against his leg. Before he had time to manoeuvre himself out of harm’s way, the alligator had already chomped off his leg, and promptly dived back down out of sight.

“You've got to be KIDDING! An ALLIGATOR! In the DESERT?

“This is getting OUT OF HAND. I’m already wounded, and now I’VE LOST A LEG?”

“Why the torture? Just get it over with and kill me already, you jerk.”

Somewhere in a perilous desert, a pitiful outlaw lay on the hot sand, fighting for his life. Silence pressed against his eardrums as blood gushed from the hole where his leg was once attached to his body. Weakened from the loss of blood, he was much too frail to utter a single word. Even though he was desperate to speak, the only sound that escaped his chapped lips was his rasping breath.

In that moment, he knew he had reached the end of his meaningless, lonely existence. As he lay there dying, he reflected on all the hurt he had caused the people in his life. The harsh words and thoughtless attitude.

Perhaps, if he had been kinder, more humble even, things might not have ended this way.

Before taking his last breath, he caught something glistening in the light—the remains of an animal carcass, its bones scattered across the sand.

He kicked out his only leg, scraping at the dirt, trying to hook one of the bones with the toe of his boot.

The humbled outlaw realised then—too late— that the scattered remains might have been the key to his survival.

If only he had been smart enough to understand how.