Six Sentences: Desert Road

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The Mustang’s engined rumbled as it sat parked in the gravel on the side of the dusty road. The empty road stretched for miles in either direction, the sweltering heat distorting the view ahead through the windshield. The top down, Sam sat up on the door of the car and lit a cigarette, glancing down the road for a better look. It was definitely a person, or was a person, lying there, he could make out the clothes now, the kind of person he shouldn’t be messing with. Sam had never prided himself on his compassion, mostly because he’d never had much, there had been far too many times he’d done what he knew was wrong. Then the pile of clothes ahead moved, just a few inches, enough to see the pool of blood oozing beneath him, enough to know he was alive, and enough for same to know that this time, just this time, he’d do the right thing.

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