» Fri Nov 26, 2010 5:44 am The sun blared its scathing heat across Elam's aching back as he croutched atop a ragged wall of rocks.
"Great timing, boys. Just great." he thought to himself while squinting into the dirty lens of his rustic hunting rifle.
"Just kill each other already!", his impatience silently demanded. "
Off in the distance from where he sqauted, it seemed to be a prolonged assault between some rag-tag Waste militia and a group of horseless cowboys.
Turf war? Debt? Supplies? It could've been over who looked at who the wrong way for all he knew. Blood is more abundant than water around here. Blood is currency.
The cowboys came to the party with roughed-up dusters and worn pistols, while the militia came with ruthlessness and tired semi-automatics. Both sides dug in for the long haul.
Someone was gonna be lucky to leave disappointed if they were lucky enough to leave at all. The spoils weren't exactly flattering, but ammo is always a plus, if there was any left.
There were two body-filled dusters and three bloodied suits of armor littering the battlefield before Elam. Two cowboys, one soldier, and a small flock of hovering vultures is all that remained.
The party's almost over. Hopefully.
Elam and daylight seemed to share a love-hate relationship. It granted him greater visibility of the far-off terrain when wandering about this god-forsaken killing field, but also provided
the less-than friendly with the same. It gives and it takes, but he would rather side with daylight than darkness.
Darkness seemed to tear away all that was somewhat good that the daytime provided. When the sun leaves, cautious optimism is replaced with good 'ol fashioned fear. Each day begins with "maybe It'll be alright",
and ends with, "I'm not gonna make it!" Fear is the meanest beast in the Wastes with night as its henchman. It's not easily killed.
The fight seemed to be paused, at least on one side. The soldier was hunkered down behind a rock and not budging. Maybe he was regretting being the only one of his side left. Funny
because he was alot cockier when the fight started. Reality must've finally sunk into this bastard. The other side, laying front-down by the rear bumper of the rusted corpse of a car, began to get up.
They were looking to close the deal.
A decade passed by the time the cowboys made it to the cowering badass behind the rock. He was dead, but the remaining duo was doing a double check just to be sure. Better safe than sorry.
Routinely, they rolled over each body and searched the remains for any goodies worth anything. "Dammit, they're pickin' 'em cleaner than the damned birds will!", he muttered to himself in disappoinment.
Although the worm food had crappy gear, it was still worth pitching for a cap or two to the local trade. With empty pockets equalling a broken heart, Elam gathered his composure and slowly rose from his ringside seat.
Harnessing his weapon across his back once more, he turned to leave the loss of the day behind him.
The top right corner of his forehead was greeted with warm steel, and his nose met the smell of burning tobacco. He had company. How long was he there?
He stood silently, not able to make out a face with all the smoke and sweat invaing his eyes. What is this?
"You picked the wrong seat, son." a grizzled voice streamed through the stagnant air.
"Just wait a minu..." Elam declared as a thunderous roar rattled his very being.
He couldn't breathe, and his vision was changing into a crimson tunnel vision. What's happening?
"What's happening?" Elam's inner voice questioned
Darkness was closing in. Daylight's going away. Fear is coming to ruin things.
One hell of a day.
END
