The Man With No Name Once walked Into An Empty Saloon, Squinting His Eyes As Usual.

The roads were empty. These roads weren’t the conventional Thar roads you see in today’s world, these roads were made of mud. When it rained, parts of these roads got slushy, but there was no rain, there was only sun. It was a hot summer afternoon, there weren’t any trees around, the place looked bare, the ground was cracked from constant exposure to heat. It was surprisingly windy, the place was deserted, the flow of wind could be heard, the wind was so hot you could feel the sand stick to your face.

All you could see along these roads from top of the cliff was a saloon and an empty horse stable. The place was deserted, it lacked people, plantations and animals. Hyenas sometimes passed through this supposed sub desert, bones of bulls and other herbivores lay here and there, all exposed, no flesh, no skin, all consumed whole by erosion and time. Clouds were a rare phenomenon, and when clouds did appear they would disappear instantly. This place had forgotten what the very anticipation of incoming rain felt like, the dimming of the sun, the chill, the scent of little tiny drops of water amalgamated with dust, the wait for thunder right after the sight of a lightning bolt, and the startling shivers right after. 

This saloon was a peculiar one, it was personless, yet all the cabinets were filled with different kinds of liquor. If a person entered this place, he’d come to be surprised over the sheer effort put into the place to make it be as organized as it was. “A saloon this perfect in the middle of nowhere?”, he’d think to himself. It had been over three months since the saloon had a customer, the last person who came in had a cigar in his mouth, he wore a traditional cowboy outfit, and boots that made a click cluck sound. He had ordered two whiskeys and had taken a whole bottle on his way out, yes, he in fact did pay for what he had taken, for he was “The Good”. The owner of the saloon wondered why the customer squinted his eyes so much.

A hyena had decided to take a detour inside the saloon the previous year, the man who owned the place resorted to unleash his rifle, the noise of gunshots attracted a whole clan of hyenas. He had to lock himself in a tiny closet for an entire day without any sustenance whatsoever. Later he had a basement made for himself below the saloon right after the incident. And even though the Hyenas never returned he stayed in this basement always, cause he found it to be more comfortable with his books and what not. For him, coming out of the basement was rare on occasion as people frequented the saloon almost never. However when people did show up he’d serve them with great satisfaction. Although he couldn’t do this very often he was passionate about what he was doing, he did it happily. He held hope that the rains would pour someday, and the deserted land would turn abundant with beings of life and culture as opposed to the scavenging demodog like creatures he was scared of. His father had left him this saloon, it was the only thing left for him to call his legacy. He was alone and yet he was happy because he was passionate.

People are passionate about things, people are unique and so they are passionate about different things, but in the end passion is one and it is same for all. Passion will come, but it is the fight to make it stay that counts. Life is not as lengthy as perceived by the general many, but to know just when life’s about to cease that you once had a passion and fought to keep it, at all costs, makes you the ultimate person you were born to become. It is this satiation of fulfillment of the heart that will bring you peace at the end.