Neato rode through the vast, desolate desert, the barren landscape stretching endlessly in every direction. The relentless sun beat down on him, its searing heat turning the sand beneath him into a scorching ocean. His mind, already fractured and tormented, began to unravel further as the hours passed.
As the horse galloped forward, Neato's vision started to blur. Tall, shadowy figures began to materialize in the distance, their forms shifting and twisting like smoke in the wind. They loomed ominously on the horizon, growing larger with each passing moment. Neato blinked hard, shaking his head, but the figures persisted.
"This isn't real... this isn't real," Neato muttered to himself, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and frustration. He clutched the reins tightly, urging the horse to continue running. He couldn't afford to stop, not now, not with the figures closing in.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long, eerie shadows across the sand. The figures seemed to grow more distinct, more tangible, as if they were closing in on him. Neato's breathing became erratic, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached for his pistol with his right hand, his only hand, and aimed at the figures.
He fired.
The bullets cut through the air with a deafening crack, but they passed harmlessly through the shadowy figures. They didn't even flinch. Neato's hand trembled as he continued to fire, his fear escalating into sheer panic. The horse, sensing his distress, ran faster, its hooves pounding against the sand.
"Leave me alone!" Neato screamed, his voice breaking as the figures seemed to close in on him, their presence suffocating. The shadows swirled around him, mocking his futile attempts to escape.
The sun finally sank below the horizon, and darkness enveloped the desert. Neato's hallucinations intensified in the inky blackness, the figures now towering over him, their faceless forms stretching impossibly high into the night sky. He fired his pistol again, but it was useless—nothing could touch them, nothing could stop them.
The horse, exhausted and pushed beyond its limits, began to falter. It stumbled, its legs trembling with fatigue, until it finally collapsed onto the sand with a heavy thud. Neato, jolted from his hallucinations by the sudden stop, slid off the horse and landed beside it.
He stood there, panting, his chest heaving with the remnants of his terror. The gun was still in his hand, his fingers white-knuckled around the grip. He looked down at the horse, its sides heaving as it struggled to breathe. For a moment, Neato just stood there, staring at the creature that had carried him so far.
Without a word, Neato pointed the gun at the horse's head. He said nothing, his face blank, devoid of any emotion. His finger squeezed the trigger, and the gunshot echoed through the empty desert.
The horse fell still.
Neato lowered the gun, his hand trembling. He looked up at the sky, the stars above cold and indifferent. He was alone—truly, utterly alone. And with that, the chapter came to a close.
END OF CHAPTER 32