2 SENTENCED
They have sentenced me to being flayed to death. I grip the bars of the cage and hang on my arms. How long will they keep me here, waiting? And for what?
I have broken the law of the wasteland. There is only one law in anarchy,
"do no harm."
I had killed her, yes, but I had saved her from suffering. The guard looks in my direction with red swollen, cataract eyes. Once, he and I had been friends. We had scavenged together, laughed together. We had found tech together, cried together. He's sunblind now. Always hated wearing goggles.
"Don't cry old friend,” he says.
My eyes sting. At least there is water to shed here, in oasis. The laws of men are harsh and unloving. What goodness is fulfilled by punishing an honest heart? I had told my story about the girl I murdered last night at the fire-pit. I feel like I did the right thing. What do we do when the laws of men fail? I look out from the bars at the glinting sun. I am no criminal. I am a good man.
In the dark of night the guard releases me. He says, "go to the wastes and don't come back. Oasis is no place for you. Civilized folk.. They don't understand the wanderers, the hard choices we make between death and worse death. You can't come back here again."
He gives me a .22 pistol and a few bullets. I hug him and look out into the night. Where will I go? How will I survive? I have no equipment. All my years of gathering tech, wasted. Taken from me by the lawman.
But I know already. The scorpions will take care of me. It’s the less worse death than being flayed alive by the 'civilized folk'. My old comrade saved me in his own way. The wastelander way.
I go out into the night and as I stumble forward I listen for the tell-tale clicking claws of the giant scorpions, who will at least kill me mercifully. But if I can make it a few miles, just a few more steps, I might survive the night.