I woke up with my face in dirt and my stomach trying to eat itself.
It was still early—light coming up gray through the trees, everything wet, cold, and quiet. I hadn't eaten. I hadn't had a restful sleep. My whole body felt like it had been put through a shredder and stitched together wrong.
The horse was still there.
That surprised me more than anything.
I pulled myself up, fingers numb, bones aching. The world swam for a second before settling into a dull, throbbing rhythm of pain.
Food. I need food.
I climbed into the saddle like a drunk kid climbing onto a barstool and pointed the horse toward the hills. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't even know which way was "not dead." But the horse seemed to know something I didn't. So I held on and let it take me somewhere.
By the time we reached the edge of town, I was half-conscious and twitching.
It wasn't much. Just a handful of buildings and a crooked church. One saloon. A general store. A couple wagons moving slow down the muddy street. Dust and smoke hung over everything like a second skin.
People were out—men with rifles, women in aprons, kids with dirt on their faces. They looked up as I passed.
And the looks they gave me—
Like I was dogshit on the floor.
Some kind of stray. Or worse—vermin.
Nobody said a word, but I felt it. The way their eyes followed me. The way they moved when I got too close, like I carried something contagious.
I slid off the horse, nearly fell, caught myself.
I could smell food. Bread. Meat. Somewhere close.
My stomach cramped so hard I almost threw up. I followed the smell like a possessed thing. It led me to a stall near the general store, where a big man was slicing warm meat pies onto a tray.
I stepped closer.
He looked down at me like I was something scraped off his boot.
"You got coin, boy?" he asked, voice flat.
I shook my head.
He picked up the tray and turned his back.
Just like that.
Ignored.
Discarded.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something. But I couldn't even lift my arms.
So I just stood there, shaking.
People walked by. Nobody looked at me now.
Like I'd disappeared.
I found a corner near the saloon and sat down in the shade. I curled up tight, trying to forget the way my ribs stuck out under my shirt, trying to block out the smells and the sounds and the low ache gnawing at my gut.
A little girl passed with a paper-wrapped bun in her hands.
I watched her like a hawk. Watched every crumb that fell.
And then—
She dropped it.
She didn't notice. Just ran off, laughing.
It lay in the mud a few feet from me. Still half-wrapped. Still warm.
I stared at it.
Don't. Don't be that person.
But the longer I sat, the less I cared.
I crawled over, snatched it up, wiped off what I could, and shoved it into my mouth like a feral dog.
It was the best thing I'd ever tasted.
And I didn't care who saw me.
An hour later, I stole for the first time.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't clean. I just saw an apple cart with no one watching and my hands moved before my brain caught up.
I grabbed as much a I could, stuffed them under my coat, and turned to run—
"Hey!"
A voice. A shout. Footsteps pounding behind me.
I ran. I ran like my life depended on it because it did.
The apples bounced under my arm, my boots slipping in the mud. People yelled. Someone fired a shot into the air.
But I didn't stop.
I didn't look back.
Because I'd learned something out here:
There's no mercy in this world.
You eat, or you die.