In BURNT on January 12, 2010 at 7:38 pm


A sharp line dissects the landscape into two shades of black.  As the wind rustles the brush, a third color is injected into the scene, also black, the dark shape of a rider and a horse, cracking the horizon line down the middle.

Ahead is a squat adobe.   In the doorway, a cigarette dies.  Falling hooves grow closer.  A sentry presses his back against the door, light from within shimmers around the brim of his hat.  A sharp intake of breath as the horse appears from the dark night, stirrups bouncing below an empty saddle. He catches the reins with one hand, the other hand holds a gun.

He runs his fingers along the horse’s flank.  Wet with sweat.

Inside, a dozen men are frozen over a coffin, eyes on the door, hands hovering over their gun-belts.  A beautiful young woman in a Mexican dress lies there, her arms across her chest.

The sentry steps in.  “Just a horse,” he says, relighting his cigarette.  “The rider?” asks the largest of the large men.  The sentry blows smoke.  “No rider.”

The big man kicks the floor and a rifle is in his hands.  He throws aside a man and then a door.  In a small room, there is an empty cradle and an open window.  Curtains blow.  A horse whinnies.

The posse charges outside and fire blindly into the dark night.

The Story Unfolds…

  1. Love it, Tim! I’ll check in soon for the next installment.

  2. ooooowhowhoooooo!

  3. can’t wait!

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