The western winds blew through the desolate town on the heel of the villain. The hero no where in sight, sings of sorrow and the chase to come. With steeds mounted and upon the hand he pursues the scoundrel.
Sands blow and cry forth and tears of sand pour throughout the barren lands. Cactus bend to the will of the armies of dust and it drains them of its life.
Sakes, lizards crawl upon the steaming, hellish sand that changes as the day takes its natural course. The east’s bound wind meets the west and a dust storm is thrusted forth, like no other, can never be stopped. Through the storm of rocks the protagonist and antagonist ride on.
Through it all, they both know their sole purpose and what must happen for the other to sleep soundly. Guns erupt as the sound of hooves pounded louder and louder, erupting, throwing the ground as it goes forth each bearing their respected masters.
The scent of the chase still lingers upon the air as the riders turn a curve, the bullet leave the chamber and it travels through air, sand to reach its desired location, in the flesh of the rebel.
The fall from greatness is till and long but he knows the tastes of the dirt and he now knows how hard the ground he treads upon is.
His companion, one and only, rides off into the sand with a empty saddle.
A lone shadow creeps upon the revolutionary’s face. He looks up from his resting place and stares into the eyes of a hardened man.
Women, robbery, revolution all flash though him. His first gun in hand all the yelling screaming, echoing.
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