The Stranger
I started following the Stranger a few years ago, after they saved my life with that old looking revolver. I don't recall why I started following them, but I am far from regretting my decision. Even though the Stranger eliminates whatever threatens them, by calmly drawing that old revolver and using fatal precision, I have never felt safer.
The Stranger is the most intriguing person I have ever come across. In the years I've known them, I have not heard them say one word. I have yet to even see them take note of my existence. All the Stranger ever does is travel, on foot, and rescue anyone who is trouble. Although, their solution is to draw that old revolver, take aim, and reload once the threats are dead. They don't miss, and never use more than the six bullets their gun can hold. When night falls, and the Stranger sets up camp, they sit and stare into the fire I always build, their face always hidden behind those black sunglasses, and the old dirty bandana. Every night, I catch an animal or two, cook it, and ask the Stranger if they want anything, try to start any kind of conversation, then go to sleep. In the morning, the food I left for the Stranger has been eaten, but the Stranger is still sitting where they were when I went to sleep. Once the sun is entirely above the horizon, we set off.
Very rarely, I see the Stranger fall to one knee, grab something off the ground, and deposit it in a pocket of the old coat they wear. Every time, the object they grab goes into the same pocket but I still have no idea what it is they grab. I want to know what they grab and why they are collecting whatever it is they grab. I doubt I will ever find out.
When we pass through a town, or the groups of ramshackle buildings that are supposed to resemble the world that once was, the Stranger still does not say anything. They simply walk through the town at a pace slow enough to allow me time to trade what I have gathered for what I need to keep myself alive. Mainly first-aid supplies. When I go to thank the Stranger for waiting for me, they just stare through me from under that hat, that is associated with cowboys, and behind the glasses and bandana. I know that once we are clear of the town, no one has any idea that we were there at all.
This cycle repeated for years. How many exactly, I really don't know. I just know that something like twelve snowy seasons have come and gone since I started following the Stranger. I started to wonder how the Stranger always had bullets to put into their old revolver and came to the conclusion that they must find the bullets while I'm asleep or digging through the pockets of those that fall to the Stranger. How many people has the Stranger saved over the years? Obviously not as many that they had to put down, but most likely enough to justify the Stranger's actions. Is there anyone other than me that remembers the Stranger? Are there any that wished they had followed the Stranger like I have? I guess those are questions I'll never have answers to, so I'll follow the Stranger, just as I have for the last several years. When we reached the coast, we turned onto one of many roads heading away from the coast.
One day though, a few seasons after we reached the mountains which were two or three snowy seasons away from the coast, the Stranger just stopped walking. They just stood there, completely still as if they were intensely studying the horizon. But then, they fell. The Stranger just fell backwards to the ground, making the hat, glasses, and bandana, fall away from their face. I knelt over the Stranger for a long time, just rudely staring at the lifeless face. I had seen a lot of dead bodies before but the Stranger look peaceful in death, as if they were sleeping. That's when I noticed the slim cords coming out of their ears which ran down into the coat. When I pulled out the small audio device, it mystified me as to how the Stranger had managed to keep power supplied to the device for so long. I remembered the objects the Stranger had collected and dug into that pocket to what it was they collected. The objects made no sense to me. They were random, tiny, useless things that anyone could find on the side of the road. After that, I put the two small parts of the audio device in my ears and tears came to my eyes.
What the Stranger had been listening to for all these years, was a single recording on an endless loop. The seventh time it played, the tears fell. Everything finally made sense. Why the Stranger never talked, why they saved people but not once spoke to them or even noticed them, why they collected those tiny random objects. I lay there beside the Stranger, their endless message playing and watched the sun rise and fall until I felt my own life slip away.
