Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own, and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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When I was a child and we went on vacations into the wilderness, I always contemplated running away, not because my parents mistreated me in any way, but because I really wanted to know if I could survive out there.
It occurred to Carlos De Sade as he stared out on the savage desert vista before him shimmering with unbelievable midday heat; that he had fared better than most in these brutal and lawless times. For now a new order of supremacy prevailed, and it mattered not what one was before the conflict. Dreams and aspirations could no longer comfortably exist. He now lived in a place where only the strongest, and most cunning could rule.
Not that he was feeling exceptionally grateful for his present circumstance. Though many around him were broken in both spirit and body; some hideously disfigured, their loved ones taken, and they cruelly enslaved. A sad irony too that Carlos was as much a slave, despite his proud bearing and good looks as any in the encampment that day; his only salvation being he was favored.
Yes, favored he thought to himself, with a shiver of disgust, by the ruthless leader of this feral band of crazed warriors, Wezley Bennett. That hard and cruel man, leading his thirty or so men, on their wild, inexhaustible crusade. Bringing wave after wave of senseless death and destruction to all, in their never ending search for vanishing resources across this ravaged landscape.
Such was the cause that had fueled the zeal of the majority of the warriors this dawn. Departing the camp with the ever burning hope of replenishing the constantly dwindling supplies. Food was almost impossible to grow in this place of little rain and arid soils; the hunting poor. With many of the best water holes poisoned by warring factions. The fierce band also went with the high hope of capturing new slaves, especially women, though unsullied ones were hard to come by.
Most that were captured did not last long here in this terrible place, its only redeeming feature, a deep artesian well, which never ran dry. This Bennett's warriors initially had to defend at all costs, though as the years passed, the challenges over this vital resource greatly diminished, the surrounding marauders either perishing, or moving on.
How long had it been since they had first colonized this austere valley, Carlos pondered? Counting at least six years wasted here as Bennett's plaything. The very thought made him seethe with repressed anger, if only he could just sink a blade in that vile beast's black heart, or even make good his escape. Try to escape on many occasions he had, and failed just as often.
On numerous occasions Carlos had made a break for freedom, eluding the sentries and making for the south where more habitable bush land lay, and perhaps the tantalizing promise of joining a settlement. Despite his best efforts he was usually promptly located and returned to his angry master, but never without putting up a good fight. Once he managed to elude Bennett's scum for more than seven days, living off the land as best he could and hiding in a cave. For those few days he was blissfully happy, despite the obvious discomforts of living rough, at least he was his own man even if only for a while.
