Tag Archives: desert


I have tried to post this story once before, but I never made it to the end of it. This time however I would like to utilize this new found enthusiasm for blogging and sharing and post it properly. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. It’s weird.

Courtesy of Quint Magazine, Dubai.

We’d walked for hours, watchin’ those old shadows of ours get smaller and fatter, then longer and thinner. As the sun became a moon, that hot turned to cold, but that wind in our face never stopped. It was sweepin’ the years off us and blowin’ them to whoever was walkin’ behind us.


“So?” said the old boy.

We both looked at each other, Sergio and me. Sergio looked a little scared. I think I probably did too. It was like he was sayin’ ‘fuck this’ with them eyes. What with what we’d done and where we’d been, you couldn’t blame either of us for havin’ a jitter or two.

“Eh,” I said, as I took off my hat and wiped my brow, “I don’t know exactly why we’re here. We were just told to come find you.”

“And who told you to do that?” said the old boy. His voice was like hot cracked asphalt.

We looked at each other again, Sergio and me. Sergio shook his head a little. He still looked scared. I could see those hands of his thinkin’ about that gun of mine. The old boy had his back turned. He was wearin’ an old denim jacket and sittin’ on a log. His long ponytail was flickin’ a little in the wind, like it was swottin’ flies or somethin’.

“Who told you to do that?” he said again.

“God” I said.

The old guy let out a little laugh.

“God told you did he? And what did God have to say exactly?”

“He said you would tell us where we need to get.” said Sergio. He’d puffed his chest out a bit and was standin’ tall. He didn’t look so scared no more.


“And that was it.”

The old boy pushed himself up from the log. I saw some bugs go scuttlin’ off into the sand. He stood pretty tall himself. His shadow cut a long line between us. His head covered up the orange sun, givin’ this beam of light around him. I stepped back a step. Sergio just stood.

He turned around and stepped over the log. What with the sun bein’ where it was, we couldn’t see his face real clear. His features were like vague descriptions. Much like the shadows we was all draggin’ along. As he walked closer he came into view. He was wearin’ sunglasses. His face had hundreds of deep wrinkles what looked like perfect scars, all goin’ where they was spose to.

He stopped about ten feet from us. The two of us straightened up a bit more. I imagined myself drawin’ my gun. I imagined him drawin’ his too. But I saw him doin’ it faster and me gettin’ blown away. Call me defeatist, but that’s what I saw. He was like one of them gun slingers you see in the movies. The sort of old boy that shot young boys on the way to a shoot out.

He smiled at us. Big old toothy thing. Teeth like smoker’s fingernails.

“Did you kill a man on your way here?” he said.

We looked at each other again. Sergio’s eye’s had gone a bit soft.

“Yeah,” I said, “as instructed.”

“Good” he said.

We all stood there, quiet as mice. Dead mice.

“Now tell me, what’d he look like this man you killed?”

I thought back. I didn’t really have a clear picture. There’s certain things you remember about killin’ someone. I remember how he’d smiled. I remember how the gun kicked. I remember smellin’ that burnt gunpowder. Things went by in a sorta blur. Like it weren’t really me doin’ it. Thinkin’ back on it, stood there like we all were, I felt like I was lookin’ at photographs of the whole thing, with spaces in between where somethin’ important happened. I guess a shrink would call that selective memory, cause there weren’t a drop of blood on those pictures.

“He was a Mexican,” said Sergio, all calm.

“Uh huh” said the old boy.

“He was wearin’ a suit. Funeral suit.”

“Uh huh. Anythin’ else?”

I went back through those photographs in my head, tryin’ to see if I’d missed one with somethin’ important on it. But they was all skimmin’ past me. I was tryin’ not to think about my hand shakin’ around where my gun was.

“He had a tattoo across his throat” said Sergio. “It said ‘Donde el viento sopla’.”

“Yup, that’s him alright,” said the old boy. “Donde el viento…what was it again?”

“Sopla. It means ‘Where the wind blows’.” I said, looking at my feet.

The old boy grinned and nodded slowly. He spat again. It was like the old baseball players used to, in a long line, like nasty coffee.

“Where the wind blows. I like that.”

Silence again. We just stood, eyin’ each other up.

“So where does the wind blow then?” he asked, raisin’ an eyebrow. His wrinkles all crushed up together, makin’ deep dark lines on his brow.

“Towards you” said Sergio.

The old boy laughed silently. He turned his head back to the sun. It was almost gone behind the mountains. His ponytail hung from under his hat, restin’ still on his back.

“Well,” he said, turnin’ back to us, “not for much longer, thankfully.”


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With Love – Part Five

“Put on the radio” she said, “I want to hear if they’re onto us yet.”

I reached down and ejected the tape. I started scanning around for a station. I scratched past some country and western, some talk show stuff, some classic rock. I found a news report and left it on.

We both sat in silence, listening to the newscaster. They didn’t mention what happened in Albuquerque, or in Deming, or at the side of the road where we left the bleeding cops. We were both a little disappointed.

“I don’t think we’re going to get to hear about ourselves” she said.

“I think you’re right. They probably won’t report it until they’ve caught us.”

She looked at me and smiled again.

“If that’s the case then they’ll never report it.”

“They’ll report it tomorrow baby. Nationwide. Worldwide maybe.”

Her eyes lit up and she started clapping her hands together.

“We’ll be famous! Posthumously fucking famous!”

I smiled at her. I always wanted to be a famous rock star. She told me once that she wanted to be a famous Hollywood actress. We knew that tomorrow we would both get half of our dreams. I guess that’s more than most people ever get.

I looked back in the mirror. There were no twenties left in bag. I could see the half moon rising higher in the sky behind us. I reached my arm over and put my hand in front of her mouth. She started to kiss and bite at my fingers. She looked around for another tape. She picked one and pushed it. It was Rumours by Fleetwood Mac. Our favorite album.

“Yes!” I shouted, springing back to life, “I fucking love you sugar!”

“I fucking love you too button!”

We both sung ‘Second Hand News’ as we blasted towards the setting sun, almost gone behind the wide horizon.


We heard the cop cars just as the sun disappeared. We pulled over and turned the music down. ‘Don’t Stop’ was playing quietly in the background. It seemed pretty appropriate to be honest. But we did stop.

“Is this it?” she asked, smiling widely.

I looked at the blue and red lights lighting up the dark sky from around the way. That deep into the desert we could hear the sirens for miles. They’d be here in a couple of minutes at most. I tightened my hands around the wheel. I could feel my knuckles go white, trying to burst out of my skin.

“Yeah. I think it is.”

“Okay” she said. She opened the door and got out. She walked to the hood of the car. She turned the light on her cell phone on and started to write something in the dust on the hood. I got out and walked around. The sirens were getting louder. I looked back. I could see a helicopter light beaming down onto the sand, scanning around for signs of life.

“What are you writing?” I asked, putting my arm around her and kissing her hair.

“Our suicide note!”

“That’s great!” I said, watching her write it quickly, beautifully, without thought.

“Done!” she said, stepping back and shining the light onto the hood.

It read:

We did what we did because we do what we want.

And our laughter will echo forever,

louder than guns and sirens.

Our victory lap around the wind.

Good night motherfuckers x


I felt a little tear drip from the side of my eye. I wiped it away and started to laugh.

“It’s beautiful sugar.”

She turned to me.

“You’re beautiful.”

I saw that same drip in her eye, tugging at her thick make-up. It held up strong. She looked so real.

I brought her to my lips and felt that rush run through my body like it had so many times before. We pulled away and wiped the tears from one another’s eyes. We both smiled. We turned and looked to the blue and red lights getting closer, stronger.

“Let’s do this then” I said.


We got back into the car and sat down. I opened the glove box and pulled out the other gun we brought with us. We hadn’t used it yet. I just pointed it at her stepmother. You know, to calm her down. She shot her with the other gun. I took off the safety and closed the glove box.

“Okay” she said, “take out one of your bullets and give it to me.”


“Just do it.”


I pulled one out and handed it to her. She did the same.

“That’s the one I want to kill me.”

“Okay” I said. We each slid the other’s bullet into the chamber and snapped it shut.

She turned the music up, drowning out the helicopter and sirens. ‘You Can Go Your Own Way’ played on. She looked at me and smiled. Her tears had dried up. Mine had too.

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Photos from India: Rajasthan – Someone

Nenchuk was standing over me as I came to. At that moment though, it could have been any of them. The sun was over on my left side now. I could feel the skin peeling on both sides of my arms.

“How much longer should I lie here?” I asked.

“You should lie here brother until the sun burns out and the moon starts to cool your skin” he replied. Then he walked away.

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