illuminated-cowboy

[illuminated-cowboy]

Stag Serenade

Chapter 2

Wildfire

 Arthur shoved his hand into the dirt, feeling absolutely nothing as he phased right through it. He pulled through, trying to dig up at least a small amount of the loose soil, but he couldn’t manage.

An idea occurred to him, maybe he couldn’t dig up his body, but if he could get to his body, maybe he could dig himself out?

He reached in again, attempting to pull himself through while not being able to push off anything. He just floated in place in the dirt, kicking his feet as he tried making sense of the physics of being a ghost.

He realized there weren’t any.

“Come on, there’s gotta be a way to do this.”

“Are you still trying to get to your body?” a disembodied, yet not unfamiliar, voice embarked.

Arthur groaned, knowing it was his immortal curser again, “Yes I’m still trying to get to my body, dumbass!”

“Here, I’ll make this a bit easier for you.” With the sound of a finger snap, Arthur found himself face to face with his own body, cold dirt surrounding his almost fresh corpse.

“There you are, you ugly fool.” Arthur rolled over and held his own hands, what was left of the right one at least. Like a glove, he slid himself in, relaxing until he felt a click, a bump, something. He really wasn’t sure how he’d know when he was truly back in his own body again.

“I’d like to warn you of something, Arthur.” The strange man’s voice called out again.

“And what might that be?”

“Once you’re in your body again, you will not be able to die. But, you will feel like you are dying.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Because so far feeling dead has just frustrating.”

“Just a warning. I felt like it would be wrong not to warn you.”

“Right, but you didn’t feel it would be wrong to offer a dumbass like me immortality only for me to think you were joking, did you?”

“Oh come on now, there are so many possibilities ahead of you. You could become the smartest man in the world by the time you’re 1000. You’ll witness firsthand all major events going forward, even the end of the world most likely!’

“Right. So how long until I-Argh!” A sudden jolt of pain made its way through Arthur’s body, his lungs felt crushed and scarred, his torn arm began bleeding heavily as every nerve began to gain feeling again and his heart started pumping his old cold blood throughout his veins.

“Fuck! You son of a bitch, fuck you!”

“Good, you made it before there was too much nerve damage. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Arthur fought against the uncomfortable feeling of dirt entering his nose and eyes, the earthy taste and unpleasant crunch filled his mouth as he screamed in agony. Realizing he could only use one arm, he reached up above his face, trying his best to angle himself in a way that he could lift himself up without packing the dirt down on his lower half.

I will kill that bastard if I get the chance, I will rip his fucking throat out for doing this to me. I just wanted to be dead already, fuck!

He felt himself moving upward, a positive result for sure. He felt a spiritual power surge through him, it helped him to keep going harder and harder despite feeling weak and exhausted.

Finally, he reached air with his hand. A couple more breaths and one final pull, and his head emerged, like a mangled newborn baby. He screamed and cursed at the world as he burst through, dragging his revived corpse away from his grave and over to a tree to rest. His arm was done for, once he had his strength back he’d have to cut it off completely.

He spit out particles of dirt and blew black snot from his nose, coughing up far more than blood in-between. He struggled to breathe, every breath felt like eternity and the satisfaction of an oxygenated lung was far from grasp. He looked to the moon to take his mind off the pain and misery he was feeling, it illuminated his dirty, dampened features and reflected off his eyes gloriously. He couldn’t see himself, but he was sure he looked like a dead man walking.

Once he was sure he had hacked up every bit of dirt and blood left in his body, he reflected on the coming sunrise, realizing an entire day had passed since he had died. This was a sunrise he was never meant to see, and he wasn’t sure if that made him feel like a badass for cheating death, or a miserable man cursed to walk a world he was never intended to walk.

He finally felt recovered enough to rise to his feet, a dull ache radiating through his body and intensifying with every step. He wasn’t sure where he was even going, but he was sure if he walked long enough, he’d end up at a lake where he could wash up eventually.

He performed a dance of dragging his feet, groaning to himself, and taking large, unplanned steps in one direction or another. Sometimes he caught himself going in a small circle, and he’d have to recalibrate and jolt himself to the opposite direction.

The sun began to beam down on his dirt coated head, so he raised an arm up to shield the sun and happened to see the movement of an animal somewhere in the distance.

The whinny of a brown filly filled Arthur’s heart with a bit of relief, finally something besides a tree to stare at as he hobbled along.

As he approached the horse, he could make out a dark brown saddle on her back.

“Oh girl, please tell me your rider owns a bathhouse.”

The horse turned, noticing Arthur’s hobbling out of the corner of her eye. He reached out a hand and looked around for her owner, “Hello!” he called out as his hand touched the filly’s velvet nose.

She gave out a content snort at his presence, at least he knew that if her owner didn’t come around soon she’d likely be friendly enough to let a strange zombie man ride her.

A familiar voice called out from the woods, effeminate and soft, “is someone there?!”

“Yes ma’am,” Arthur looked around, unsure of where the voice was coming from and unable to put the name on his tongue, yet sure he had heard this voice before, “don’t be frightened by my appearance miss, I’ve been through one hell of a night.” His gaze settled on a woman approaching from the woods, a rifle in one hand and a dead rabbit slung over her shoulder.

She looked frightened and readied her rifle. “Who are you!?”

Arthur raised his hand and lifted a brow as he realized who the woman was, “Charlotte?”

She lowered her rifle and smiled in relief, “Arthur? What happened to you?!” She ran over to him excitedly, concern and worry overtaking her face as she realized just how torn up he was.

“Boy am I happy to see you.”

“I would say the same if your arm weren’t hanging off, what happened to you Arthur?” She gently touched just above the ripped section, trying not to let her shock overtake her ability to offer help.

“Wolves. Lots of ‘em.” Arthur chuckled painfully. “Only took one of ‘em to do this though.”

Charlotte cringed in second-hand pain. “Please, let me take you back home, you’ll die like this out here.”

“Kinda wish I did die, would hurt a hell of a lot less.” Charlotte shook her head, preferring to not think of her savior rather dying than being alive. She gently turned him towards her horse, assisting him up as much as she could before attaching her catch to the saddle and lifting herself up onto her filly.

Arthur held the woman gently with his living hand, steadying himself on the mare, “So, when did you get a horse?”

“I figured she was a necessity. Bought her in town one day, she’s been very loyal. Named her Wildfire.” The filly kicked up her hooves and began transporting her riders down the trail.

“She’ll be good to you til’ her last breath. My ol’ boy died about a day ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was he ill?”

“No, no… It was, well, a rat. In a way.”

“A rat?”

Arthur tried looking for a way to describe what he meant without tainting her image of him. “I’m not a good man, Charlotte.”

“You keep saying that. But actions speak louder than words. And we are always our own worst critics.”

“It’s possible I have a chance to begin again,” he sighed, “but I’ve tried that so many times, always ends with someone getting hurt.”

“Well, you didn’t hurt me. You helped me, you saved my life. I will forever consider you my friend for that alone.”

“I was in with some bad guys. For a long time. The only ones who didn’t betray me in the end either died or left to make their lives better. And for that, I will never blame them. I should have left too.”

Charlotte slowly began to understand. “Well, it looks like you did leave. So now the question is, what will you do now?”

“I dun’ know.”

“Well, you can stay with me as long as you need to. I have an extra bed and you won’t be imposing.”

Arthur considered being stoic, denying her offer with something along the lines of “That’s alright Mrs. Balfour, I’ll get on just fine.” But instead, he sighed, and nodded to himself. “I think I could use the comfort of an indoor bed, thank you Charlotte.”

“I’m happy to hear it. I could use the company too. Maybe you can teach me some more survival skills as well!” She said cheerfully, looking behind her to catch a glance of the war-torn man. “Once you’re all fixed up, that is.”

The brown filly gave out a whinny as a fox crossed her path just a gallop away from the old cabin. Charlotte road her over to a fence post and dismounted, holding out a hand to assist Arthur down.

He chuckled as he oriented himself, attempting to first dismount alone. “In a normal world, I’d be helping you down, Mrs. Balfour.”

“Well, I’ve lost sight of whatever a normal world would be considered.”

With a shot of pain through his body, he winced, and grabbed for her hand reluctantly, trying not to fall or put too much pressure on the woman.

He tumbled down, buckling to his boots as Charlotte reached out to grab him, keeping him from falling far.

“This arm, Charlotte, it’s gotta come off.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in response. “Shouldn’t a doctor make that determination?”

“Well, the last time I saw a doctor he told me I was dying, so I’d rather make the calls from here on out.” Charlotte wrapped an arm around him and assisted him as best she could, steadying him through every stumble and trip he endured as they made their way to the cabin.

“I don’t want you bleeding out on my watch.”

“I’ll be fine, Charlotte. I just need a good bath and a knife.”

She looked at him with pain in her eyes as she opened the door. “Well, if you think it’s for the best, I trust you.” She guided him inside to a chair, and he let out a moan of both pain and relief as he sat down.

“I feel like I could sleep forever, just right here.”

“I’m going to go get you a bucket of water and some soap and we can wash you up.” She gently patted his shoulder and grabbed a large wooden bucket by the door before heading outside to the well.

Arthur sat in silence for a moment, looking around her home. The home of a widow who, Arthur figured, was surely sufficient enough to have survived on her own.

Or maybe not. Maybe in another world, Arthur hadn’t helped her, hadn’t seen her when she needed him. And maybe nobody else had helped her either.

Maybe she was only alive because of him. The opposite of many, many people Arthur had come across in his life.

Arthur began undoing his shirt with his one good arm, getting down to the last button but finding it a struggle to actually get it off his shoulders, a mixture of pain and the lack of a second working arm being the culprit.

Charlotte walked back in; a bucket full of fresh water by her hip. “Oh, let me help you, Arthur.”

He leaned forward a tad, and she came around the backside of the chair, pulling as tenderly as she could at the blue button-up. One arm down, the healthy one at least. Coated in bruises but other than that, usable and strong.

His other arm was a different story, sticky blackened blood coating the ripped and worn fabric, she contemplated whether pulling it quickly was the right decision or pulling it slowly and possibly prolonging his pain.

He winced and turned away as she pulled it off, the blood pulling at his hair and torn skin. Fresh blood pooled on the floor in small amounts as she was careful to avoid touching the exposed flesh. Once it was off, he looked like half man, half bloodied beast.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

“Hey, you didn’t attack me,” he mustered a grin as he took a good glance at his arm. The skin was completely torn away, the bone entirely dislocated from the rest of his skeleton, the forearm only hanging on by the thinnest strands of red threads, “I’d be real impressed if you did though.”

“Right. Well, I think you should get nice and clean before attempting major surgery on yourself.”

“Of course.”

Charlotte brushed her hair behind her ear before twiddling her thumbs for a second and asking, “do you need, help?”

“I do believe I might, but uh,” Arthur reached for the bucket with his good arm, “to save you the trauma, I’ll take care of the nasty bits later.”

Charlotte let out a relieved sigh. “I’ll go get something to scrub you with and a bar of soap.”

Arthur nodded in agreement. “Wouldn’t you rather we do this outside though?”

“It’s fine, I’ve been meaning to give the floor a good cleaning anyways.”

“Yeah but, this is gonna be a lot of blood and all, I don’t wanna-“

Charlotte came back from her room with a bar of soap, a hunting knife, and a couple towels. “I really don’t mind. It will be more comfortable for you in here.”

“Alright.”

Charlotte dunked the soap in the bucket, working the lather into a hand towel and taking Arthur’s good hand, rubbing the mixture up and down his arm.

Their eyes caught each other; hazel meeting blue. She refused to admit her heart skipped a beat at the sight, because despite his worn appearance and his dirt coated features, his eyes had so much more life in them than they did the last time they met.

She smiled, reaching a hand to gently touch his chin, pulling him slightly towards her as she gazed closer into those suddenly piercing eyes, “you’re healthy again, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You were sick when you were here last time.”

“Well, you cure one thing, you end up with a lost arm I guess.”

She chuckled as she released her tender grip and continued to clean him up, handing him the towel and reaching for a new one to wash his face with, dabbing it under his eyes and behind his ears before wetting down his untrimmed hair and scrubbing it between her fingers.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly happened? I know you said it was wolves but, you look like you were buried underground.”

“Do you want the truth or do you want a lie?”

“I would prefer the truth, but if you’d rather be creative and keep the details to yourself, I’m still curious.”

“Well, I got the shit kicked out of me, died. God or Satan or whatever, he told me I was immortal now, but my body got attacked by wolves. I got buried then had to claw out of my own grave with one arm.”

“My, you are quite creative. I’ll have to keep you around for story ideas from now on.”

He smiled, “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“You know, even on Cal’s deathbed he was still telling jokes too.”

He looked to her with awe. “Any man lucky enough to have you as their wife would die happily regardless of the circumstances.”

She grinned, her eyes almost tearing up. “That’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever been told.”

“It’s been a good long time since I’ve been treated to a nice bath as well.”

“This next side will probably sting.” She said as she grabbed another clean towel and came round to the destroyed arm.

“I’ve felt worse, do whatever you need to do.”

She squeezed the towel, dripping cool soapy water down into the open wound. Arthur groaned in pain, his chest tightening as his teeth gritted against the feeling. He turned away, appearing to physically try and remove himself from the troublesome arm.

“Fuck,” he muttered through his teeth, struggling against it but knowing it had to be done, “give me the knife.”

She continued to rub down the arm, “I’m not even nearly finished getting all the dirt off-”

“Whatever is in there is in there, get me the goddamn knife!”

The woman reached for the hunting knife she had grabbed earlier from the table behind her, handing it to Arthur in one swift motion.

“Get my belt and tie it around my arm, as tight as you can.”

She hurried in front of him, kneeling and undoing the brown leather belt from his hips. Wrapping it around his arm and pulling it as hard as she could manage, blood squirting from the bottom, Arthur held the knife tightly before making one final request, “you got any alcohol?”

“Um, I have some rum in the cabinet.”

“That’ll work.”

She nodded, running for the container, and bringing it back to him. He placed the bottle between his legs, popped the top off, and took as many swigs as he could until the numbing feeling kicked in.

“I’m gonna need your help here, darlin’.”

“Anything, Arthur. I’m right here with you.”

“I’m gonna need you to hold this arm here as high as you can.”

She blinked twice. “You need me… while you…”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need you to but it’s gonna go a lot smoother if you do.”

“Okay.” She grasped his hand, cold deadened fingers between her own, and pulled the arm vertically, moving down to hold it by the length just before the wound.

Arthur stuffed a towel in his mouth, readied the knife, and began slicing into the flesh, screaming muffled into the towel as his entire body contracted in pain.

Charlotte held strong, looking away as blood splattered on her blue dress. With one final push, the arm came off, and the stump that remained poured with red liquid as Arthur tossed the knife and held the stub up as high as he could, pulling the belt tighter around it.

He spit out the towel onto the floor. “Candle!” he shouted, nodding to a candle that happened to be lit in the corner.

Charlotte dropped the arm and ran for the candle, handing it to her wilderness survival man without putting it out. He rubbed away as much of the blood as he could with a towel, then held the stump to the candle flame, trading his stinging pain for a burning pain.

The worst was over as he finished his self-surgery, laying back in the chair as Charlotte took the candle away. She returned to offer him more rum, to which he nodded and opened his mouth, silently begging that she pour it in and not stop.

With a bloodied arm on the floor, pools of suds and human liquids leaking from Arthur like a dripping pipe, he took one final moan and relaxed his eyes. “Thank you, Charlotte.”

“It’s no trouble,” she looked to the arm, the mess, the bloodied beautiful man in her chair, “I’ll go bury that in the back before it decomposes. Please, call for me if you need anything.”

And with that, Arthur was armless. He took one last look at the cold, bluish body part as Charlotte wrapped it with a towel and walked it out the door.

He picked up the rum and took another swig, the pain dulling his drunken state, yet still feeling the need to smile and say to himself, “I’m unarmed!” He giggled like a madman, trying to continue holding his brand-new stump above his arm, taking more sips in-between uncontrolled laughter, the majority of the rum dripping onto his beard and chest rather than his mouth.

By the time Charlotte returned, Arthur was far gone, flying high and performing a mixture of moaning in pain and giggling in pleasure.

“My angel!” He shouted at her. She took the bottle from his hand and rubbed some suds out of his hair.

“Do you want to keep bathing tonight or-”

“I will tell you,” he hiccupped and pointed a finger up, “what I want.”

Charlotte looked at him concernedly. “And what might that be?”

“I want for you to just give me the gentlest of kisses, right here,” he pointed to his forehead, “because women’s lips, they heal all wounds.”

She smiled, and kindly humored him, pressing her lips tenderly to his forehead. He pulled her close, his one good arm wrapping gently around her waist and pulling her in for a hug. She held his head under her breast, fingers trailing his cheek as she further indulged his desires for human touch.

“It’s been a while, darlin’.”

“Since?”

“Since I was loved.” He looked up at her, eyes looking even more pained than when he was cutting off his own arm. “I loved only so many women, and they didn’t love me, Charlotte. They used me, they used me and they left me when I couldn’t be what they needed. And that’s on me, I’m a horrible bastard.”

“No, Arthur, that’s on them honey.”

“No it ain’t, Charlotte. I hurt them bad, and I’d hurt you too if you got too close, but, I wanna be close to you. And I ain’t never wanna hurt you.”

“That’s enough of that,” she pulled away with kindness, holding his hand with both of her own in an effort to guide him somewhere to lay down, “come to bed, sleep this off and we’ll figure out the rest when you’re feeling better.”

He stumbled to his feet, holding her hands like they were precious jewels, looking at their every detail through his blurred, drunken vision, “I don’ wanna hurt you, Charlotte.”

“Don’t you worry about any of that right now, come with me.” She wrapped her arm around his back and assisted him into her guest bedroom, laying him down gently on the bed, holding his arm up and resting it on a pillow by his head.

She pulled out a blanket and laid it over his bare chest, keeping him warm for the rest ahead.

She kissed his forehead once more, wishing him a goodnight without words, then closing the door behind her to give him some privacy.

Arthur came in and out of a blacked-out state, desiring to go wander the halls and find Charlotte again to continue his self-deprecation, to show her and prove what an awful man he is, and why she would be right to toss him out and let him suffer. But she wasn’t going to do that, and he wondered if he really made such an impression on her that she would now trust him like this.

He could easily hurt her, maybe not physically but surely emotionally. That’s why Mary left him, right? He couldn’t change. He wasn’t redeemable.

But either she didn’t believe he would hurt her, or she didn’t care. Maybe she had been through the same pain as him, enough so that she didn’t care, just like he didn’t. Or at least, just like he kept trying to convince himself that he didn’t.

[illuminated-cowboy]

Stag Serenade

Chapter 1:Take Me Home

Dying is not hard. It never has been, it never will be.

The pain comes before, the anguish of your loved ones, the fear of what lies afterwards. But death, in reality, is as simple as sleeping.

Arthur knew this as he laid down to die. He drew every breath like it was his last, awaiting the inevitable darkness as the sun rose before his eyes.

He had almost believed those tales of your life flashing before your eyes as you pass away. How could anyone know if it was true anyways? Not like anyone had lived to tell the tale.

To live after death, it sounded morbid. But Arthur knew he would live on, in the hearts of those he left behind, through John, through Jack, through Abigail.

He had many regrets, and yet, none of them mattered now.

His eyes closed one final time, his breath growing shallow, his heart slowing down as he prepared to succumb to his illness and his injuries. A comorbidity, he knew he would have kicked that rat’s ass if he wasn’t sick. It would be Micah dying on this mountain had he been a better man sooner, had he thrown Strauss out of camp the moment he found out that he had been lending money to people with no possible way of paying back in a timely manner.

None of that really mattered now, none of it would ever matter again. Arthur righted his wrongs, as much as he could. Perhaps in some cases he only coated ruined lives in a sheet of gold, he hoped at least Mrs. Downes was doing better, despite all the pain and tragedy he had been responsible for.

Arthur’s three final heartbeats rang loud in his ear, the last of his oxygen rich blood pumped through his bloodied face, his ears cold yet burning, a final thump in his chest.

“Hi there.”

With the energy he had felt in his youth, Arthur shot up, bloodshot eyes cleared of redness. The startle seemed to kickstart his heart, he turned around, almost aggravated at the interruption to his rather peaceful death.

“What the hell?”

A man in a top hat and a mustache, striking a similar resemblance to Trelawny, suddenly obscured his vision.

“Goodmorning Arthur,” he spoke with a gentle yet authoritative tone, “lovely day, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Arthur felt a cough coming on, but before he could react, the feeling had faded, “who the hell are you?”

“Who I am is really not important, Arthur. Who you are, that’s important.”

“Nice to know. Can you go away now,” Arthur readjusted and prepared to lay back on the rock, accepting his death once more, “I kind of have some dying to do.”

“Is that so? Is that what you want?”

“No, but I don’t really have a choice.”

The man smiled, “Do you?”

Arthur sighed and slowly rose again, “Yes, I in fact do, tuberculosis if you must be so inclined.”

“Yes of course, from Mr. Downes.”

Arthur shook his head in frustration, “Who the hell sent you? Did Micah tell you to come up here? Finish me off? I got money in my pocket, whatever you want, just take it. Kill me if you want. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

The man shook his head and took a couple steps towards Arthur before squatting down and reaching for Arthur’s pocket. His icy blue eyes looked at the strange man’s hand in confusion, as when he reached for the lone dollar hanging from his pocket, the dying man realized her couldn’t feel a thing.

“Who the hell are you?” He said with a furrowed brow. The man stood upright again and waved the dollar in the shine of the sunrise, turning the crumbled bill into a fresh crisp one with a simple flick of his wrist.

“Consider me an old friend, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur sighed, catching on softly but refusing to believe it. He turned around to look at the rock he had been lying on, only to see his mangled body left behind.

To say his concern was vivid would be an understatement, Arthur jumped to his feet, his nonexistent heart beating a million times a minute.

“That’s just residual, it will fade. Your consciousness is used to feeling, well, human. In your next life you’ll have a bit of a different biology. Best get used to forest life, of course.”

Arthur shook his head, denying the reality of his current predicament, “No no, this is just one of them death bed visions, something or other. You ain’t real, I know you ain’t real.”

The man laughed through his nose, a smile gracing his face as his features said “pity.” “That wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said that, Arthur Morgan.”

“Look, maybe you’re a ghost, or an angel or the devil or whatever. If you don’t wanna tell me then it’s your secret to keep. Let’s get to the point, why are you here?”

“I wanted to give you one final choice on your journey, Arthur. That’s what I do, I give choices.”

“Then what’s this choice?”

“Continue living this life, or move onto the next.”

Arthur was sure this was a deathbed vision now. He chuckled and placed his hands on his physically faded hips, “oh boy, so stay on this road or pick a new one, huh? What a choice. What? I get to be a deer? A Bear? Shit in the woods and get shot at all day?” He chuckled again and looked to the sky, “Don’t sound so different from the last life, do it?”

“If you’d really like to know, you’d be a stag, yes. Your life after that would depend upon the way you lived then, and so on and so forth.”

Arthur raised his arms, “so what was I before then?”

The man tapped his chin, “I believe you were a Shire horse, mister Morgan. Your name was Klaus, and you were shot when your owner was robbed.”

Arthur nodded, “sounds about right.”

“I want to make it clear, usually I’ve finished by now and my client will have been in the next life. I share a bit more with those who seem scared-”

“Scared? I ain’t fucking scared, I welcomed death with open arms until your smart ass dropped into the picture.”

The man shook his head and continued, “the choice is yours, Mr. Morgan. The only catch is, well, you will never get the chance to be a stag, or anything else ever again, if you choose option one.”

The blue-eyed man crossed his arms and giggled to himself, “so you’re saying I won’t get to shit in the woods?”

The man sighed, “I feel you aren’t taking this seriously, Mr. Morgan.”

“Sure then,” Arthur said condescendingly, still refusing to fully believe anything he had just been told, “if it so indulges you, I will continue on living as the man I am, and I’ll keep on plundering and raping and making others miserable just as I always have been.”

The man smiled, “oh Arthur, we both know you never had it in you to rape anyone.”

“I’m sure a lot of people would prefer I did in comparison to what I ended up doing to them.”

He nodded, “so, it’s settled then, Mr. Morgan. Immortality is officially yours.”

“So be it,” Arthur walked back to his corpse, attempting to kick his own foot before sitting back down on his own lap and contemplating just how much longer it would be until blackness closed in and he could officially consider himself dead, “Now you son of a bitch, why don’t you take your philosophical bullshit and-” just as he turned to tell the man off, he was gone.

Arthur sat in silence for a moment, attempting to process what had just occurred. 100% this was a deathbed vision, he had no doubt about it. But he could see with his own baby blues, the sun was still rising, the sky was still growing brighter, the clouds shone with vibrant purity. There was no great black sheet of darkness, there was no fading light, there was no death in all his sight.

Unless, this is death? To walk the world a paling ghost, to see his friends continue living, to watch them die, to see the world change before his aquatic eyes.

He waited, and waited. He got up and paced a bit, his body freezing to the touch, and yet, not stiff.

Arthur looked up and saw, suddenly, the bright blue sky was now fading in a glorious sunset. An entire day had passed, and still his body laid there, slumped against a rock, and his faded see-through figure appeared to be getting more and more transparent with each passing minute.

Suddenly, he heard a crack coming from around the corner, along with a grunt and heavy breathing. He turned around and saw none other than Charles, lifting himself up onto the mountain, sweat beading on his forehead.

“There you are, my friend.”

“Charles!” Arthur shouted. The man looked around, the sound of a wolf’s glorious howl seemingly drowning out his voice.

“Charles, I’m right here!” Arthur stepped right up to him, it would be impossible for him to not see. Instead of embracing his friend, Charles stooped low next to Arthur’s body, holding his hand and bowing his head in silence.

In that swift moment, with his brave persona broken to pieces, Arthur realized what was happening.

He was dead. His spirit, on the other hand, was still living.

His emotional heart took over for his real one, and with fear and agony, he screamed at the top of his ghostly lungs, “Hey! Come back! I didn’t want this, bring me back! Kill me! Make me a deer, I don’t want this!”

He turned again to see Charles lifting his dead body up upon his shoulders, and slowly returning down the mountain, leaving Arthur’s vision within seconds.

Instead of following behind to see his own grave, Arthur turned painfully to the sky, feeling the need to berate God for this awkward situation he had found himself in.

“Is this punishment, huh? For the shitty way I lived my life? Is this hell?!”

“It’s not hell, Arthur.”

He turned again, almost relieved to see the strange man appear once more.

The man took his hat off and shook his head, “you were supposed to lay back down into your body, Arthur.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that, dumbass?”

“I thought it was obvious, but I apparently need to work a bit harder on my hints.”

Arthur nodded, “you think so?”

“You do realize I could have just left you to suffer for eternity, right?”

“Listen, I change my mind, I don’t want this. I don’t want my old tuberculosis body, I don’t want my old life, just make me a deer or whatever and be done with it.”

“You already made your choice Arthur, it’s a choice you can only make once. So, I suggest you go find your body before your only choices become Mr. Cellophane or the Walking Dead.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s a bit for you to chew later on, my friend. Now go find your body, lay down in it, and do not leave until you can move in it again. I can only hold off rigor mortis for so long.” He snapped his fingers and with that, he was gone. Arthur frantically turned around, running in the direction he saw Charles go, deciding in a split second that he’d rather live eternity in a body rather than the alternative, even if he did have to cough every five minutes for all of forever.

It was dark now at this point, and despite looking around for any sign of his friend, Charles had made off quickly with his body. He listened for any sound of digging or further grunting, even the whinny of his Appaloosa, but nothing stuck out.

“Fuck this ghost shit.” Arthur muttered under his breath, “Can’t fly, can’t see through shit, can’t walk through anything, can’t tell my friend not to bury my dead body.” He tried to kick a pebble but failed, falling confused as to why some things seemed impassable but others were not.

“I was supposed to die up there and be done with it. Then fucking God, or Jesus, or Satan or whatever, Lucifer comes and curses me,” he looked up at the stars, directing his anger again to whoever may be listening, “I still don’t believe any of this is real, by the way! I know I’m probably drunk in some saloon or some shit, getting’ the crap beat out of me!”

Whether or not he actually believed that, not even he knew.

Awoooooooo

“Get away!”

Arthur heard the faintest scream of his friend, and knew he was in trouble.

He ran down the mountain, feeling like an eagle flying down as he realized he didn’t have to worry about broken bones or getting hurt. A seven-foot jump felt like nothing. If it weren’t for the whole non-existence thing, he might have picked this instead.

He ran in the direction of snarls and shouting. Charles’ horse whinnied and cried out in the night as the sound of a struggle took place. Arthur came across the scene, a massive grey wolf had his arm in it’s mouth, and Charles was backing away, holding a gun and aiming for its head, not even noticing the two wolves coming behind him.

“Goddamnit Charles, just leave my body, save yourself!” He ran closer, realizing he couldn’t do anything to stop the attack, but knowing he had to try.

There was a saying that animals saw spirits, Arthur was in fact a spirit at this point, the next part of that theory was hoping it was true, and if it was, hoping that they cared enough to leave Charles alone.

He sprinted forward, holding out his arms and screaming as loud as he could, hoping to break whatever sound barrier was between this world and his old one.

The wolves perked up their ears, staring at Arthur plain as day, unsure of whether to attack or to respect his stance and leave.

“Get out! Go!”

The one closer to him snarled, and Charles shot his gun, injuring the wolf that had Arthur’s arm in it’s mouth.

The wolf ripped at the flesh sharply and took off running, Charles turned to see the two wolves with a mixture of terror and anger in their eyes.

With a strong breeze, a heavenly fog erupted from the ground, coating Arthur in a powder made of light. Charles covered his mouth in fear and surprise, and behind him came a white stag, large and powerful with golden horns and glowing blue eyes.

“Arthur!” Charles called as the spiritual scene took place. Arthur turned to see him after he had called, seeing his eyes weeping as he witnessed the ghost holding out his arms against the wolves, the stag pierced his mighty hoof through the dirt and let out a low rumble, terrifying like an earthquake but sweet as a song. It sent chills down his spine, and the wolves tucked their tails and ran as far as they could away from the ethereal sight.

Within a moment, the image was gone. Arthur’s silhouette faded with a second gust of wind, and the man was alone again.

Charles fell to his feet, unable to believe the sight he had just seen. But it was real, the wolves had seen him too, they saw the massive buck, and they would have killed him had they not.

“Arthur, if you can hear me,” he looked up to the sky, frantically seeking a sign as he wiped a tear from his eye, “thank you.”

Arthur smiled upon his friend, relieved that he could do something to help, but not even knowing just how he did it. He felt as though he had someone to thank as well, he just didn’t know who yet.

“Tell the others that I miss them too, if you can.”

“If I see them, I’ll let them know.” Arthur said, knowing he couldn’t be heard.

Though his valiant act was well-needed, albeit unexpected, he couldn’t stop Charles from digging him a proper grave. And he didn’t want to, he knew it was his way of saying thank you to the spirit who just saved his life.

So, he watched as Charles took his time, paying respect to his body, and finally, lowering him down into the ground. He wondered away and within a few minutes, he returned with a bouquet of beautiful flowers, and laid them down on the large hump of dirt.

Arthur sighed, trying not to shed a tear at the site. He never felt as cared for as he did now, after he had already died. If he were still alive, with all his human abilities, perhaps he’d already be crying.

“I will be back to give you a nice marker, I’ll build it myself, I promise.”

“I guess there’s no way of convincing you to dig me up now, is there?”

“Thank you again. You were well loved, even if… well… I loved you. You were my brother.” Charles walked away and back to his horse, galloping off into the night.

Arthur watched him riding away, waving an unseen goodbye, unsure if he could return and explain that he was still alive, once he figured out how to get his body back, that is.