Six days he'd been hiding out in this hell-forsaken desert, living off cactuses for moisture. He'd poked a dozen of them today, but now all they gave was a thick, red oil. All that was left was to choose: die out here, or go back to Mulewater.
- Start -
So death either way, then. Percival Adams wished for a third option that he knew would never come to him. At least he got to choose the manner of his demise. Most didn't even get that option.
If he stayed, he would surely starve - if Legion didn't get him first. He hadn't seen one of those shambling half-humans in a day or so, but they were sure to show up eventually - that was their very purpose, wasn't it? Tenacity?
Hadn't that been the reason Adams had led them here in the first place? He had let their whispers twist his thoughts - when he was so weak from the booze that he couldn't even remember his own name - he listened to their deceptions, their vile machinations. He told himself the town deserved it, that this whole forsaken world deserved to burn. If they were now destined to consume him, he would accept that fate.
But facing the Sheriff, and that kid? What was his name? Roy? He couldn't. Not after he had left them to die - tricked them just as those mindless bastards had done to him. No, that would be insanity. They might have survived all this, and if they had - He wouldn't put it past them to be on his trail. Those two were a determined pair, and making their vengeance easier was not something that Adams wanted to do.
Better to be erased than to face those two like a man.
So Adams walked. Away from the town he had grown up in. Away from the now long dead father who'd get a little too much drink in him and beat Adams within an inch of death. Away from the dozens of bottles that no doubt littered the floor of his house. Like father, like Son. He thought. He'd inherited the same demons that haunted his father, plus a couple more.
He walked deeper into the Wastes, closer to the center of this world. They said that a great worm made its lair at the very heart of this world, and you'd be devoured the instant you crossed into it's territory. Adams wondered if he'd make it long enough to find out.
One could usually last three days without water, but did that take in account alcohol withdrawal coupled with skin melting heat? Adams figured he had about a day and a half left, if that.
It wasn't like he knew they were real...
What would you think if you, the town drunk, started hearing voices in your head? Weird ones too, didn't even sound like humans at first - only when you listened real close. Adams bet you'd do exactly as he did: write them off as the hallucinations of a liquor soaked brain.
They told him everything he needed to hear. The town was to blame. Why hadn't they stopped his Pa? Why didn't they just cut him off? What did they expect to happen, if no one would hire him?
He just wanted them to see him as a person.
Of course, the instant they did - he betrayed them. Left them to die after letting a monstrosity into this world. The only two people to ever seem like they gave two shits, and he had stabbed them in the back. Literally in one of their cases.
He hadn't understood that this Legion, this being from beyond the Wall, had been playing him since the start. He was just as much a pawn as anyone else.
And so Adams walked. Eventually the day turned to night. He didn't change pace, or make camp. What use does a dead man have for rest? He walked all through the night.
It was as the first rays of sun broke over the horizon that he saw another figure. Cast in black by the backdrop of rising sun, They were walking towards Adams, at about the same pace.
Was this it? Was this Legion, jumping on their chance to assimilate him? Or was it Buck, or maybe Ray. That was his name! Either one of them would be enough to put Adams down. But how could they have gotten ahead of him? This figure had to have been coming from the center of the Wastes, and he doubted that even those two could've survived such a journey.
The figure crept ever closer. Adams refused to speed up his gait, half out of fear and half because he didn't have the energy. The person, who was now clearly a woman, seemed to not be in any sort of rush as well. They two meandered, neither acknowledging the other's presence.
After a bit, Adams could see his approach-er better. She wore a cloak of deep green, which seemed an oasis in contrast to the white of the dried up plains they walked on. Bright and curly red hair spilled out from every side of the cloak's hood - somewhat obscuring her face.
Eventually she was so close to him that he could almost reach out and touch her. The need to break the silence eventually broke through his better senses, and Adams spoke. "It's too dangerous for you to just be out on a stroll, so do what ya came here t' do."
The woman stopped just as she was about to pass by. Graceful fingers reached up and laid her hood back - the red hair no longer held back seemed to grow exponentially - and moved in the slight breeze as though it were alive itself.
She knelt down and picked up some sand. Adams braced himself as she spoke. "As you wish,"
Adams couldn't help but look down at her hand, and watched as the sand started to float and swirl just above it.
"Emery"
----
Adams found it difficult to describe the pain he was experiencing. Having sand tear through you, removing everything it touched in atom-sized pieces was something that not many had put words to. From a tiny dusting the Wytch had conjured a sandstorm - it surrounded the both of them, but left her unfazed.
He was on his knees at this point, unable to hold himself up any longer. There couldn't have been much of him left - yet there no signs of the storm fading. The worst was that there was no blood, in fact there was nothing much he could attach to except the pain. He imagined that was the point.
She spoke:
For your sins against us,
For your sins against your own kin.
For your foolishness, short-sighted and self actions.
You will be removed from this world, particle by particle.
You will watch yourself disappear, until your last atom becomes wind.
Hours later, the storm had abated, and neither the Wytch nor Adams remained. All that was left was the dry, cracked earth.
And a thin layer of dust.
- End -
No comments:
Post a Comment