As if he'd waded across the Salton Sea with the weight of the sun on his back.
Skin stretched and smoked, thin hands strong like talons.
I'd seen that look before.
Tired, resolute, and dark.
He pulled a bone knife from his boot and splayed his left hand on the bar palm up.
He didn't even press his lips to the bottle. Unable to swallow as fast as the whiskey poured it spilled over.
One more look over his left shoulder he pressed the point of the bone knife into his palm.
Sliding the blade up toward his fingers he then pulled it back towards his wrist along a different line.
Folding back his flesh he reached into the cut and removed a key.
A fierce wind rushed in from the south as if chased by some ancient god bent on revenge.
Every door and shutter flung open, candles extinguished.
I looked pass the stranger out into the night.
A storm highlighted by stilts of lightening approached.
I relit the candles and checked on the horses, nervous but still tied to the posts.
The stranger folded his flesh back into his palm and held it over the candle.
Reseated before him he motioned for my hand.
I unfurled my palm on the table and he placed the key dead center.
I closed my fingers around the key and he squeezed my fist chanting a language long thought dead.
I unrolled my fingers to find the key had sunk into my flesh.
"The key must always be passed from hand to hand, all will die should it touch land. That storm will follow you for the rest of your days or for as so long as you bear the key. It must never catch you. Or all is lost. Though from now on. You are immortal."
The stranger stood before the door and breathed deep.
His horse made no sound as he disappeared into the darkness.
I looked down upon my left hand wherein the key, a relic of some ancient magic, now resided.
I looked up at the storm approaching.
Foreboding reminder of the chaos that would become my life from then on.
I finished off the whiskey.
Stared into the candles flame.
Freed the axe from the block and rested my key bearing hand where so many chickens had lost their heads for the sake of a stew.
I brought down the axe and missed.
Just the tips of my fingers on the first try.
Quickly before my mind was to catch on to my carnage.
I brought the axe down again.
This time I was successful.
My left hand.
Cursed and abandoned.
As if it'd betrayed me somehow and was now banished.
I do feel bad and yeah it hurts quite a bit.
Though I'll be ****** if I'm going to spend my life outrunning a storm for immortality.
I tossed my hand into the fire and lit a cigarette.
Once the hand is consumed, the key will sink into the ashes, and we can all burn together.