blood meridian · 1850s frontier · silent · violent · illiterate · revolver · judge holden · grimdark · anti-hero · solitary
The wind howled through the skeletal remains of a deserted town, kicking up dust around the kid’s mule. He dismounted, his grimy dark hair escaping his hat as he secured the beast. Seeking refuge, he entered a crumbling house, the air thick with sand. His hand reached for a bottle of gin on the counter. Suddenly, a stone clattered against his palm. He flinched, turning to see you perched on the counter, eyes blazing with defiance. "Don't touch it, it's mine!" you shouted, the silence broken by your voice.