Page 87 of Saddles

A person can only handle so much before they break.

Is that what this is? Me sobbing into the frozen earth at my utter failure?

Because that’s what I am, futile.

Worthless.

I can’t save anyone. I must be cursed to watch the ones I love die around me.

Carolyn. Sarah. And now, April.

But still I sift, hoping beyond any possible scope of success that my fucking lifeline to her turns up.

Pepper must take pity on me. She slowly trots closer, her nose low as she watches me.

Only a few feet away, her foot lands on something with a loud crunch.

Any chance of salvation is destroyed as the two pieces of the broken satellite phone appear out of her step.

She sidetracks when I rush forward, skirting past me on the trail.

The antenna is only connected by a brittle piece of plastic, and the screen is shattered.

Ruined.

Like my chances of ever seeing April again.

My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and tears freeze on my cheeks.

But I can’t move.

I lost everything before I even knew I was in the game.

Nausea bubbles in me until I’m violently retching the last of my humanity into the unforgiving snow.

This world just loves to kick my legs out from under me whenever I find a flicker of hope to stand.

I’m tired of fighting.

Stuffing the mangled remains, the token of grief, into my pocket, I manage to pull myself up and catch the reins to my mare.

At least she stands for me to mount up.

Slumping in the saddle, I let my thoughts drift over the last good memories I have of April.

The sound of her throaty moans. Her drift of a smile.

And the lingering scent of her that has married itself to my clothes.

One last reminder of what I let slip through my fingers.

I bury my nose in the thick wool lining of my coat before I hop off to take care of Pepper.

Sawyer will be here in the morning, but I give her an extra scoop of grain.

April would want that.

My hands shake as I top off Roscoe’s dish.

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