Stepping out of a small shack, a young kid gazed into the sunlight. He shut his eyes and used his hand as a shield. On the ground next to him laid a hunting rifle with no ammunition. He had been carrying it for months, but only fired it a couple of times. The boy dusted the sand off of himself from the recent sandstorm. The boy's attire consisted of rags and a baseball cap he picked off of a skeleton residing in a car. Its tomb. Looking down at his feet, the boy could see his toes protruding from his worn down shoes. The laces have long since degraded. The boy, still looking down, shifted his eyes towards the rifle. He leaned over and picked it up, remembering to hold it properly, like he was shown.

The boy walked forward. He didn't know where he was going, or why he was going there, but that was what he was told to do. He could not remember why, but he had been told to look for the tall buildings. He didn't know how tall they were or what they would look like, other than he would know when he saw them. He would just continue to walk, ignorant in the fact that he was following a blind motive with no aspiration for anything other than accomplishing what he had been told. Trudging onward, the rifle slowly getting heavier in his hands, the boy would reach his destination. He had to. No matter how badly malnutrition or dehydration hit him, he would get where he was going.

He passed a mountain. The boy could not see past the mountain, though he did not want to. He refused to look in any other direction, in fear of walking off course. The boy would not sleep in any place that didn't have a door facing the direction he was going. Forward. Spending another cruel night without food, and hardly harvesting enough water to keep him going from a presumably irradiated pond, he would continue his journey. Something in the distance would catch his eye. Something that was small, but big enough to be seen from miles away. The silhouette of large buildings started to take shape as the boy moved forward. The buildings were in his path, and from what the kid had observed they were exceptionally large.

The kid contemplated if it was his destination in the distance. A shining beacon of hope that his journey would finally be complete. That his task will be accomplished. That he can finally end the long and grueling walk that had tortured him for so many months. Had it been months? The kid would think to himself. Or just days stretched so long that eternities would pass by? The boy would not speak these thoughts aloud. He would not speak unless spoken to, and would be respectful of his superiors. Though, the long travel without human contact had made him question who would qualify as his superior. The kid had come to the conclusion that anybody wearing thick metal had to be better than him, as those same people had beaten into his head time and time again.

The more he pondered these hideous thoughts, the closer he seemed to get to the shadow of the buildings, which started to look less like shadows. Though, they started to look less like buildings as well. Looking forward at what the boy had previously thought was a cluster of buildings, became large orange, jagged cones. The boy kept walking. He would keep walking. Even as he continuously hit the mountain with his body, he got back up and kept walking. Nothing could stop him, or deter him from reaching his goal. The boy had no thoughts of his misleading perception. His mind's betrayal. What he had once thought was solace, was just another nail in his coffin of torture. The boy would continue to walk until he had died. He did die.

A young child awoke in a wagon. The same child, though not the same. The other child had died at the mountain, and this one was just taking his place inside the husk. The body. Even though the other child had died and a new one had taken his place, the same reoccurring thoughts of reaching his destination circulated around his head, hoping to compel him to wake up. To continue walking. The boy decided to open his eyes. The sky was bright, though every second that passed seem to dim the light glaring down from the sun. His head was elevated by some type of cloth. His body was warm; being covered by some type of cloth as well. To his left was a rifle, a hunting rifle. The kid's body bounced up for a second and came crashing down a bit. The pain ached all over, but the child ignored it, only grinding his teeth at the pain.

The boy removed the cloth covering his body, and sat up. The pain throbbed all over his upper torso, though he did not let the pain bother him. Picking up his rifle he stood up, only to fall over at the next bump that the wagon hit. He heard a female voice. It was young, and soothing. "You okay back there, honey?" She said. The boy, no longer being confined to the ground, picked himself up, along with his rifle. The boy walked forward, and fell out of the wagon. He turned and landed on his shoulder. The wagon stopped. The pain he experienced in the wagon had magnified tenfold. This did not deter him, however. The boy stood up, and kept his hunting rifle close with a firm grip. The woman spoke again, "Hey kid! Where ya goin'?" The voice was beautiful.

The boy turned around, and raised his rifle. He was told not to trust people along his way. They would all try to murder him. That's what he was told. If he died, the boy could not complete his mission, he could never find happiness. He would kill this woman if she hindered his progress. "Easy there. There's no need to be pointing that thing at me," The woman stepped out from behind the wagon with her hands held high. She raised them in the air, with one of them carrying a bottle of something. The woman was just like her voice. Beautiful. She had long brown hair that seemed to reflect light like a mirror, with blue eyes painting her pale white face a stunning image of beauty. Her lips were as red as blood and her smile was extraordinarily calming. The freckles under her eyes seemed to paint the canvass that was her face like imperfections that could only serve to amplify her asthetic purity. The sun hit her from the side, and a small shadow seemed to shade in the bottom left half of her face. "I only wanted rescue you from that blaring heat." She was smiling.

The boy did not lower his rifle, but his head began to throb. He pushed aside the pain. It wouldn't affect him. He would shoot her if he had to. The boy did not contemplate the situation at all. He knew what he would do. The woman began to move closer slowly. Her hands were still up and she was still carrying the bottle. The boy did not say a word, and he held his rifle tighter with every step the unknown woman took. Closer and closer she got. Tighter and tighter he held. The boy had been so focused on convincing himself that he would shoot the woman if he had to, that he didn't even notice her kneeling in front of the rifle. She pressed her head against the gun. Her perfect head. Her slim body didn't look malnourished at all. She could take him if he didn't pull the trigger. She could beat him. She could kill him. The woman reached down into her pocket while her other hand was still raised in the air with the bottle. The boy's finger wobbled on the trigger. He questioned if she was pulling a weapon out. Instead, she removed a rag from her denim pants. She leaned her head back to look up at the kid. The barrel had left a circular black mark on her forehead.

The woman opened the bottle and poured some water on the rag. She brought the rag up to the child's face and began to press her thumb into his cheek. She rubbed her thumb all around the side of his face, and she did the same for the other side. "There. All better." The woman said. She smiled again as she placed the dirty rag back into her pocket. The boy's eyes began to water as the rifle in his hands began to shake. The woman rubbed the water off of his face, and the kid began to breathe steadier and held the gun with more grip. He did not know why his eyes had watered, but he did not feel sad. "Now that you're all cleaned up, you want to say something?" She said with a light laugh.

The boy opened his mouth, but no words came out. Air. He tried to speak, but habit and compulsion refused him that right. He tried again to no avail. One last time he would try. The boy opened his mouth. Nothing. The boy panicked, and pulled the trigger. Click. The boy's eyes closed. He did not hear the gun fire. He pulled the trigger, and he kept pulling it. He pulled until he heard a loud sound erase the sound of silence from his ears. He opened his eyes and stared into the smiling face of the mysterious and beautiful woman. He looked down at the ground, where he found the gun that he had dropped. He looked back up at the woman, who was still smiling. The kid's face began to let out the sounds of sniffling as his eyes began to water once more. He closed his eyes and ran into the woman, knocking her down. He was on top of her. The boy raised his fist as the tears from his face dripped down on the beautiful woman. He swung, hitting the ground next to her face. He tried doing the same with his other hand, but it landed next to her head as well. The boy continued to shower the woman in tears.

The woman never took her eyes off of him for a second, the boy noticed. He opened his eyes, even though he assaulted her, she continued to smile. The two of them stayed like that. For less than minute, they were there, yet it felt like an eternity. The boy brought his head down to the left of the woman's head, where his arm currently rested. He cried like that for a while as he kept his head there. He half expected the woman to kill him, yet he was crying because he couldn't do the same to her. Her head turned to look at him. He could tell because he could feel the soft, warm, calm breaths of the woman on his neck. He heard the sound of gravel falling and hitting the ground. He could feel the body of the woman underneath him moving. He felt something on his back. It was a force that was pulling him down. The woman's arms clasped around his body and pulled tightly as the kids sobs increased. The boy wanted to say something, but couldn't do it. He did not know how long they had been there or how many times he tried to bring words to his mouth, but he stopped caring once the woman spoke. She spoke in a voice so calm and beautiful that it seemed to remove all distress from him, yet would make him feel like a person. Like a person who had a purpose. A purpose to feel.

"I forgive you."