Original Poetry Fan Fiction ❯ Book of Imaginings ❯ Last Ride ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

The heat of the sun is an iron weight
That bears down as the bullet bites deep.
The heat of the lead burns more sharp than the wound
And the flies speak more loud than the shot.
His whole body jerks and he falls from the saddle,
Drops forever to ground close beneath.
Blood pools sticky beneath him tasting of steel in his mouth,
And crickets scream loud in his ear;
They ask why he's there but he doesn't know.
All he knows is around him, what he can see, taste, and touch:
The red spray as his chest heaves;
The crushing weight of the air;
The soft coo of the wind;
The perfume of the grass.
He turns his face to the sun and thinks to himself
There are worse ways to end his last ride.