good, bad and ugly-original writing peice

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The good, the bad, and the ugly.

He was dying; he could tell that much in the pain clouded recesses of his mind. The bullet had hit it’s mark embedded deep into the flesh of his chest. A wound like that would need immediate medical attention and the nearest town was a good half day’s ride on horse back from this damnable town. This desolate pile of wood with it’s abandoned wagons and rotted skins surrounded for miles by desert waste land, bordered with ragged mountains that loomed over the tiny settlement, casting hulking shadows across the town.

  The thick coppery scent of blood stung his eyes and nose as the last few minutes of his life passed before his mind’s eye. He could remember having travelled for a good few days in the blistering heat of the west’s deserts and the sticky sensation of the leather as it rubbed and clung to his sweaty back as he leaned ever so casually against the rickety fence of the old stables, waiting for the duo of sheriffs that had been following his path for the past days.

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  He remembered glancing over the town as he waited, listening to the wind whistling through the streets and blowing sand around, as he looked over everything from the buildings with their faded paint, to the silent grey gelding that had been tied to the front of the town’s bar. He could remember when his glancing eye was caught by the solitary form of the broken wagon; it’s rotted spines crippled by the neglect of it’s abandonment, and it’s decaying flaps of material slapping against itself in the harsh blow of the wind.

   He could see ...

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