i’ve currently been entertaining the concept of a lost, lonely cowboy who’s been separated from his gang, stranded out in the middle of the far west. right as he approaches starvation, he happens across an abandoned shack, half-buried in dust— and the man crucified in front of it.
he claims to be able to work miracles. and he might as well be telling the truth, because no man could survive a few nights out here, hung up like a pig, with nothing to protect from the elements. he promises the wanderer a life of luxury. pleasure beyond his wildest dreams, if only he lets him down from his hanging post.
the cowboy knows better. he sees the man’s fangs underneath those plush lips. he knows what a vampire is, storybook or not, and how they lie and cheat and steal their way to a bloodied meal. yet…
the shack provides shelter from the incoming dust storm. and every few hours, he catches himself gazing out of the ruined window, at the crucified man. at the way his hair falls, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath…
a life of luxury, he was promised. with him, goes unspoken.
