The Breeze by Wen

The man stood still, looking out over the plain before him, as if waiting for something. His horse stood patiently behind him, silently grazing on the tall grass. The air was dead calm and oven-hot, the silence broken only by the screeching of the lone hawk that seemed to hang motionless in the faded blue sky. The man looked up at the hawk, his eyes reflecting the blue of the sky back with all the intensity and life that can only come from touching death.

The gunfight in the town that he and six others were hired to protect was over. All his friends were safe. The town was safe.

Another dollar earned.

Another man dead by his gun.

It was never an easy thing to live with. But the man took comfort in that thought, for he knew that if it ever became easy, he would be dead at heart.

But he also knew that he had to be honest and clear with himself about it. The man he killed gave him no choice. It was his life or his best friend's life.

He had to deal with it.

Forgive himself.

Off in the distance, the hot stillness gave into itself and a small whirlwind was born. Moving awkwardly at first, stumbling in the tall grass with no direction, it finally found it's rhythm and grew stronger. Twisting and swirling, the grass danced with it, giving the whirlwind the confidence to break free and rise high, evolving into a breeze.

The man saw the dance of the grasses ahead of him, saw the breeze grow strong and true. He could see from the movement of the grass that it was headed straight for him. He stood stock-still, feeling the trickle of sweat as it moved down his spine under the thin cotton shirt he wore.

He watched the breeze, and thought about the life he took.

He watched the breeze, and thought about the life he saved.

He felt the breeze, and felt the peace as it flowed over him, around him, through him. He swayed with it, closing his eyes and letting it cleanse him, pushing his hat off and rushing through his hair. His face relaxed as a small grin spread across it.

He was free.

END