Horizons Flaw.

See the expanse. The hard pale dirt stretching out for miles. The yellow grass blanketing it like an itchy Navajo rug. And Johnathan Drivers stood tall like a cactus against the white sky. Carver Daniels lay boot level to Drivers with a bullet firmly lodged in his shoulder. Daniels felt the blood rising in his throat, he breathed slowly, sucking in dust and the calmness of impending death. He squinted at Daniels, taking pity on his sad carcass. Drivers reached into his pocket, and bent down. He placed a dark black-purple hawk feather on the inside of Daniels vest.

He unpinned the fading bronze sheriff badge that stuck to the front of Daniels like a lepers boil. He made quiet eye contact with Daniels and stared expressionless into his soul. Drivers stuck out his hand and closed his eyes as he felt this unfit sheriff exhale his last onto his callused palm. 

The ghostly sun reached out to Daniels. It’s bright tendrils carrying his body up to the sky. The Great Wide Beyond had taken him up with the other souls of the west. This was a good time to die. 

Drivers stood up and he glanced down at the space where Daniels body had just been. 

Drivers began walking West, twelve sheriff badges pinging in his coat pocket. And in the great quiet of the desert, his boots imprinting the dirt, gunfire rang in the distance.

He was on his way to to Remington, to collect and find the last sheriff of the mythical Wild West. To bring this desert into the new era.