A Fistful of Apples: True Grit is Magic

by Alsvid

Coal

Time passed. So it goes.

Applejack drew her kerchief over her mouth as she approached the sprawling city of Appleloosa. Now a giant, grim grey titan that dug its claws into the earth miles along the horizon, she could feel her breath catching in her throat as the fumes of the smoky city air stung her chest.

It reminded her of an old memory, one that made her faintly ill. Her stomach clenched sharply. She rubbed her neck with gloved fingers, feeling the rope scars there, like braided twine embedded in her flesh, like choking strands of hemp squeezing her windpipe closed.

Invisible hands squeezed her throat. She swallowed hard, fighting to keep the swooping of her belly away, ground her jaws shut tightly, so much so muscles in her neck and cheek stood out like cords under her smooth white skin, and resolutely aimed her footsteps at the city borders. Her boots, worn and smoothened by the passing of years and immeasurable steps, ground against the soft desert sands.

She glanced down at the dirty greyish-tan sands. Loose, scraggly weeds dug into the desert dirt here and there, pitiful, browning things that looked corpselike in the dull, cloudy, sullenly hot sunlight.

Suddenly, a screaming, groaning, rusty horror of a wagon thundered by her on the road, pulled by a drab team of skeletal, underfed, braying, snorting, stamping monstrosities that only barely resembled horses at first glance, their teeth hinged white horrors like bent tombstones, lathered and bleeding from whip blows.

Applejack raised her eyes and glared at the driver of the wagon, who was so thoroughly wrapped in calico jackets, khaki trousers, goggles, and linen that they were an eyeless, mirror-gazed thing she couldn't perceive their features. The driver glanced back at her briefly and then wordlessly laid into their horses with the whip, Sharp cracking and slashing sounds rent the air, amidst the eerie silence as she entered the city.

The choking grey smoke made it hard for her to see. It was everywhere, settling upon the ground like a poisonous, wool-tick blanket, heavy and warm and filling her lungs like wet cement. Almost immediately her heart began to labour as she struggled for breath, and her legs turned to jelly. Sweat stung her eyes, rolling down her back in clear rivulets, soaking her shirt.

She leaned against a wall, trying to catch her breath, when a pair of strong hands, gloved in dirty canvas, grasped her shoulders.

"No, no, I'm alright," Applejack protested feebly.

"No, you ain't," the man holding her snarled, hauling her away. Applejack fell into a swoon. She saw the world turn into pitch darkness in a swooping, zooming, whirlpool nightmare of blinding, dull roaring just behind her ears, felt as though she were being sucked backwards powerfully by a hellish wind...

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