The man rolled his eyes at the loss of life before him. Returning the revolver to his pocket, with five shots left, he sighed. He saw the air from the sigh in front of him, and noticed that the other man had none coming out of his mouth. Taking great care not to step into the icy water to his right, the man peered out from under the bridge, taking a look at the road in either direction – deserted. Snow began to fall in big heavy flakes, violently whipped about by the wind, which brought with it a sheer cold.
Wondering how many men his father had killed with that gun, the man noticed that his ears had finally stopped ringing. He looked back to the other man, lying dead upon the ground. No longer a man, for the fire had gone from his eyes – and in this weather, the warmth had already seeped out of his body, gobbled up by the frozen ground. Adjusting his trench coat, the man resolved to leave the body in the freezing river. He reasoned that it would hide the body, and preserve it until spring. Perhaps it would float down several miles in the time beforehand, the man cared not. He would simply continue on his journey, with the knowledge that no one else knew he’d been there.
Returning to the main path, hat already laden with snow, the man simply walked, footprints hidden by the falling snow blanketing the area. Sometimes his boots would fail to grip into a patch of ice, leaving him teetering on the edge of his balance. The man, however, never failed to regain control, never fell – for to fall in this weather, with all the snow, which would get inside his coat, melt, soak his clothes, and then freeze again, why, it’d killed many men before. Knowing that he wouldn’t be any different if he fell, he continued his march, traveling several miles.
If you’re interested in more, please contact me.
a Modern Mythology 