weapons

by zackig · 👁️ 8

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Extreme wide shot under a merciless noon sun: an ocean of rippled sand stretches to the horizon, heat shimmer blurring sky and distant… — The desert remembers everything men forget.

Tight close on his right hand and the revolver at his hip. — I still feel it in my palm.

Medium three-quarter shot of him halted, hat pulled low over his brow. — Every step folds the past into the sand.

Low-angle close on his eyes beneath the shadow of the brim: dry, rimmed in red, a quiet, unspent fire burning there. — No more running.

He approaches a jagged dead tree rooted on a dune; its twisted limbs scratch the sky. — I told you I'd come back.

Extreme close on the revolver's cylinder swung from his hip and caught in his hand. — Me.

Intimate mid-shot of him seated in the sand, the gun open on his knee as he lets bullets roll from the cylinder between his fingers into… — He emptied more than a chamber.

Wide again as dusk slides in: the revolver lies abandoned in the sand, its cylinder open to the widening sky. — He walked out with nothing to point at but himself — and the knowledge that some bullets must be left to the wind.

Made with Comic AI — AI-generated comic strips.

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