There’s nothing for miles ahead, a horizon speckled by empty expanse and death. A hostile situation. It’s forward, and you know what was in the rear view.

It’s still there. Haunting the peripheral. Dragging your eyes back and forth across the desert. Absolute.

There’s no recourse, naturally. No means of communicating, nor solemn vow to break. Its true for one as it is for all. We each come to the crossroads at one time or another.

It’s lonely here, dusty tumbleweeds are shoddy conversationalists; always passing by without a word.

Oh, look.

A scorpion.

I wonder if it will be my friend?

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