I suppose this is all my fault. Who else can I blame this on? I'm the one who ventured out without really telling anyone. I don't suppose a nod to JD counts.
It hurts.
Hell, everything hurts.
They have to know, right? They have to know that something's wrong, but really, why would they? Who am I to believe that they actually care? But they have to. They have to. I have to believe in that. I have to, because I might as well give up now.
Where am I?
I have to be close to the town. I can feel it in my bones. Now, why that would be, I don't know. It's not as if Four Corners is my home. Hell, I don't think anywhere is my home, but I can't imagine myself anywhere other than Four Corners.
I need to get back.
It's so cold.
Where's my jacket?
I can't seem to remember. But I have to, don't I? There's something very important that I have to remember. Something I have to tell Chris.
Where's my jacket?
I'm not moving.
Why aren't I moving? I'm suppose to be on my way to town.
What town would that be again?
New Orleans?
Fall Creek?
Boston?
San Francisco?
Why is it so cold?
Heh, I remember now... they had stripped me naked, hung me up, tortured me, shot me, then left me for dead. Funny how I can just forget something like that. It was hell trying to find clothes while bleeding to death. Couldn't very well show up naked. Damn, these pants itch.
I try to get up, but it's so hard. I've been walking all night. My foot slips, and I fall once again. My shoulder hits the ground, and I bite down hard on my lower lip to stop the cry. There might be someone listening. Or something. I roll over onto my back, and I stare up to the night sky. The stars are really beautiful. It's strange how I never took the time to look up before. Now, here I am, bleeding all over the desert ground, I look up and the stars take my breath away.
But I have to get up and keep going. I stand up on wobbly legs, and take a small step. That's it, one step at a time. I have to get back.
I trip and fall. I can't stop the small cry that escapes my lips.
Get up, dammit! Get up... please?
ETA: 20 minutes
The bleeding started again a couple of minutes ago. I can feel the sticky warm fluid making its way down my back. My thin shirt has already soaked up more than its capacity of blood. It's disgusting. I long for a bath.
I'm a little closer. The few steps that I've taken helped. Now, all I need is just a couple more. And a couple more. And a couple more.
I stare at the stars. They're winking at me. In mockery or in sympathy, I'm not sure. I should just die and get it over with. Maybe they'll find my body when the sun rises tomorrow. Or they might never notice that I'm gone. Now there's a thought. It seems likely.
My mind flashes back to the painfully short life of my saloon. Ah yes, my wonderful friends. They were so supportive of me and my dream.
When Chris needed help with the search for his family's killers, we were there.
When Vin needed help concerning Eli Joe, we were there.
When Buck needed help with the fine art of fencing, I was there.
When Billy went missing, and Mary needed help, we were there.
When those damn working girls... when Nettie... when Casey... when Judge Travis... whenever anyone needed help, we were there.
But, dammit, where were they when I needed help?
Dr. Jackson is busy with a patient.
Call back later, Josiah's got things to do.
Not now, JD's about to win back his money.
Sorry, Buck's avoiding the new damsel in town.
Apologies, Chris' not in town right now.
Aw hell, Vin's not in town either.
Those damn stars, they're mocking me. They're staring at me, and they're laughing at me. What a pathetic loser, Star Number One says to Star Number Two. Yeah, he should just die and get it over with, Star Number Two answers.
Where are you, my so-called friends?
It serves me right to trust them in the first place. There's no place for me in Four Corners, or in their lives. I'm a drifter, and I should stay adrift.
I laugh with the stars, choking at the burning lump in my throat. I gasp as I accidentally joustle my broken arm. I cough, and I start to cry. Tears flow down my dirty cheeks. I raise my good hand and wipe them away. Why am I crying? Why?
That's it, the one word I've been looking for the answer to all my life.
Why?
The burning my throat spreads, infecting my heart, my stomach. It spreads and spreads. My skin tingles, and I scratch at my neck furiously, almost tearing my skin off. The pain doesn't stop my scratching though. That pain doesn't even begin to compare with the other pain that I'm feeling right now, but I wish it would. I wish the physical pain would drown out the other pain. It shouldn't hurt this much, should it?
Why can't the world be nice to me for a change? Why, just once, can't I find someone to trust? Maybe I'm just damned. Yes, that's it. I'm damned to the solitary life. And I'm paying for believing otherwise. This blood, this thick red blood that's dripping off me now... it's payment for my naivete. I'm paying for the gross miscalculation that I've made.
I scream, and drag my nails from my neck up to my jawline. I smile when I touch blood. More blood. More payment. I hope whoever you are, you're appeased.
ETA: 17 minutes
Water. I laugh. Water. There's water in this god forsaken desert. I drink more than I should, so I cough. The water is stained red from my blood. My vision's blurry, but that's expected.
Why am I still walking towards Four Corners? I thought I decided that I should die. I suck in a deep breath, reveling in the pain the action brought. Maybe I am a masochist at heart. Why else would I enjoy this pain so much? But then, the pain wasn't so enjoyable when Trenton dragged that knife down my back and chest. I certainly wasn't smiling when he broke my arm. And I sure as hell wasn't laughing when he shot me.
I take another drink of water. The cool liquid eases my parched throat. Keep going. It's not that far off now.
Die, dammit. I'm supposed to die.
Everyone's better off with me dead anyway.
I get up off the ground and started walking again.
ETA: 12 minutes
I'm so tired. I'm so very tired. Please, just take me now. Be it heaven or hell, I don't care. It has to be better than this. It hurts so much. I can't feel my left arm anymore, but my chest and back are screaming. Each breath is like a knife in my back.
Die. Die. Die.
It has to be the answer right? What does it matter anymore anyway? I won't be missed. They'll hardly notice when I'm gone. So Chris will have one less gun, so what? He can get another. Someone more worthy of his trust and faith. Someone like Vin, someone with honour and integrity. Not some cynical card sharp like me. Who needs a con artist? No one, that's the answer. With me dead, they don't have to worry about some imminent betrayal. They don't have to worry about me turning my back and walking away. I'll just die, and be forgotten.
Besides, dying will take away all this hurt. Not the pain of the gunshot wound, which no doubt is infected by now. But the pain of living. I don't need to see the dismissive looks, the suspicion, the doubt, the anger. I don't need any of it anymore.
Why am I still living?
Yes, once upon a time, I dreamt of my own saloon. Making loads of money, and die in my sleep surrounded by wealth and my one true love. But that dream had come and gone. Dead, slaughtered in its infancy by my own mother. My friends, people I had come to trust, left me behind. It was the consequence I had sought to avoid all my life. I always leave people and cities behind, because I'd rather be the one leaving rather than the one left behind. And yet these people that I deceived myself into caring, left me behind. Left me in the dust where I belong.
I breathe out, hoping that it's my last. It's not.
Do I owe them anything? No. Not even an explanation. When they finally realize that I'm gone, they would wonder why. Where have I gone? Why would I leave? They can't even imagine the hurt they had inflicted upon me. But they would wonder. Then, they'll find my skeleton out here in the wild, picked clean by the vultures. Josiah would most likely comment on the irony of an indoor man died in the great outdoors. Or maybe Vin would say that.
Or rather, they would all die with me within the next two days. Trenton... that's why I had to live. That's why I'm crawling towards Four Corners.
Maybe I should be malicious and let them die with me. Hmmm....
A coyote howls in the distance.
ETA: 5 minutes
I guess I'm not the malicious type.
ETA: 2 minutes
I can see the lights of the town. I can see the saloon. I can... I can see my blood dripping to the ground. Why? Why do I do this? Why should I die for these people? I can die, without reason, without cause, out there in the desert. Instead, I choose to die for them. I choose to die, letting them know of the impending doom ahead, so they can prepare and save themselves.
Can someone please tell me why? Why have I come to care for these people even though they have hurt me? Am I proving something? Am I trying to make a statement?
Maybe I just don't want to die without reason.
I know I'm dying. I can feel it. Nothing Nathan can do will save me. I should have died, oh, two hours ago, but I've hang on. I need to hang on, so these strange, cruel people can live.
Maybe I am malicious afterall. I need to die, right in front of their eyes, so every last drop of my blood will drip upon their callused hands, so the last breath of my existence will breeze across their cold hearts. And they'll remember me, forever.
And they'll regret. And they'll wonder, forever, the future that they had lost.
ETA: 10 seconds
I'm right outside the saloon. Just five more steps, and I'll be inside. I stumble up the steps, pausing before the swinging wooden panels posing as doors. My resolve crumbles, and I fall forward. Oh what a dramatic entrance. My mother would be proud.
The noisy saloon falls silent.
"Ezra!" That's JD.
"Lord!" That's Buck.
I can hear the ear-splitting screech as they all push back their chairs. The rumble as they rush towards me can rival a buffalo herd any day of the week.
"Josiah, go get Nathan," Chris calls out.
Someone's cradling my body in their arms. I hope it's Mary.
Nope, no such luck. It's Vin. He stares at me with someone akin to grief in his eyes. He's grieving... for me?
"Ezra," Chris says
"Trenton," I whisper my important message of the day. Vin nods. He understands. That's good.
"He did this?" Chris asks. I nod.
"He's coming, in two days. Better prepare," I whisper softly, hoping that they can hear me.
Vin... why is he so concerned?
I can see the sadness in their eyes, and I wonder why... why they would be grieving for someone like me? They certainly didn't think much of me when I needed them.
I feel a gentle pressure against my ribs. I gasp.
"I'm sorry, Chris. There's nothing I can do," Nathan says.
"No, Nathan! There has to be something!" JD cries out.
Why do they care?
A soft drop of wetness falls upon my cheek. I look up, and I see Vin. He's crying. For me.
Why?
I gasp as I realize the reason. The exact same reason why I kept crawling towards Four Corners despite the pain, the agony, the winking stars, the turmoils of my thoughts. I said I didn't want to die without reason, and I won't. These people are my reason. All six of them. Vin's crying because I'm his reason. JD's crying because I'm the reason.
Because... in the end, the hurts don't matter cause... cause these people are....
Family.
My breath comes shorter and shorter.
"Ezra," Vin whispers. "You can't die."
I just stare at him. Then, I smile. A genuine smile. The kind I haven't tried for much too long.
I think that just about says it all, don't it?
"No, no...," JD whimpers.
"Cease those tears, gentleman... I'll be waiting for you," I say quite heroically.
Vin wiped his tears with the back on one hand.
Chris bends down and looks me straight in the eye. "Go in peace, Ezra," he says. The words strike me as something Josiah would've said... guess we all rub off on each other.
Another drop of wetness falls upon my cheek.
"Cease means stop, Vin," I whisper softly so that only Vin could hear. He looks at me, and finally manages a smile.
Not without reason, but for friendship.
My blood drips not upon their hands, nor my last breath breezes across their cold hearts. Instead, my friendship graces their memories, and I shall live.
The End
