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The air stung on its way down his throat. Surprising. He thought of all breathes he’d ever taken, this one would be the most painful. But it was only bitter and cold and he felt nothing at all. The wound in his side hurt more than breathing. Fascinating. You’d never read about that in a book, huh?It didn’t matter anyway. The wind around him was chilly and gusting with a power he wished he had. Weak. He told himself. Weakness brought you here.Weakness is what made boys into men and humans stronger but only when they could defeat that weakness and make it a strength. Dutch could never do that. He tried. But he just couldn’t. No matter how much he tried, he remained a weak, weak boy who grew into a weaker man, a man who couldn’t change.They say your life flashes before your eyes when you are near death, or on your way there. It didn’t really flash. He imagined it to be like lightning shooting down from the heavens during the darkness of a thunderstorm. No. It was nothing like that. It was more like a fog rolling off a lake in the middle of the forest to plague the fauna with its misty haze.He could remember things all of a sudden that he had forgotten behind his walls of sanity. He saw his mother reading to him on those first few nights his father had left for the war. He could remember loving his parents, his father carrying him on his shoulders, teaching him to read and shoot. His father was always a military man so he could also remember the beatings he’d get for disobedience. He didn’t hold that against his father though, because honestly, he’d beat himself too for half the shit he’d done. Oh and how much he had done. Proud much? No. Not anymore at least, and certainly not for a long time. Dutch didn’t know what pride tasted like anymore and even if he did, he wasn’t sure if he’d enjoy it much.He had hurt his mother, first off. Ture, yes they didn’t get along, but that was Dutch’s own fault. His father was killed, sure. But he ran away from home. His mother loved him, cared for him, and only wanted the best. Yet that could not stop her unruly son from lying to her, stealing from her, getting in trouble with the law, and then running away in the night without a single trace. If he hurt anyone the most, it was her.The slow fog of his life moved on. He remembers his father leaving for war. He remembered running away. He was so cocky then. So very untouchable like the law itself. But he was more than the law, wasn’t he? He was better than the law!That’s when he found Hosea. Oh... Hosea. You sweet bastard. At least he didn’t get to see Dutch now. Like this. A monster. No matter how much he tried to fight it, he knew what he was. He knew he was no different than those bastards who brought him to this point in his life. First the lawmen, the Pinkertons, the government itself. His own... well... he felt as if it was flesh and blood.He couldn’t deny he was a monster but he knew he loved them at one point. His gang, his family. Arthur... John... Susan... He even loved Bill and Javiar. The girls... The grimy little boy Kieran. Uncle... He smiled at the thought of that older drunk fucker. Oh, how he loved them all. He felt for so long that he had found his purpose. He failed them. It was as easy to see as the sun. He tried so hard to be a better man, a good man. A father, lover, a son and a brother. He was doing good for a bit there. Perhaps it started when his father died. ANd it got worse when Annabelle was taken from him. Death a can do a funny thing to you. But he felt what he had suppressed long ago rise and swell like the tides and the moon. It was just so so very easy to stop caring. People are going to die. People are going to betray you. So why not do it to them, before they can do it to you? It didn’t feel that simple, as it is when you can’t describe your own emotions. It was easier to be angry, to lash out. He’d lost his marbles for being on the run and chased down. He was a murderer and lair and it only got worse. It’s easier to blame the lawmen that chased him. But he knew, then and now, that he didn’t need to kill all those people. He didn’t have to rob them. He could have just sat there in the dirt with the rest of the country. But he had such big dreams and those dreams could never happen if he stayed in the dirt where he belonged. God had a funny way of making him laugh though. He had climbed so high up this ladder. He’d started with his first petty theft of a few dollars, to his first murder, his first robber. He did it all. He was a king of kings. He cut a scar so deep into America that people would remember his name and what he did for the rest of time. But it’s funny how it turned into the world’s longest suicide note. He sure did make a mess of things, didn’t he?He looked over the side of the cliff he found himself stuck on. It had only been a second. All those thoughts cluttered his mind as he took a step, and another forward as he found himself closer to the edge.There was no surprise when he looked over his shoulder and found his match.“Hello again, John,”John inched closer while he stood his ground, “Hello Dutch,”Oh, this was indeed funny. He deserved this and he couldn’t help but twitch a smile at this friend and foe, “We gotta stop meeting up like this!” He waved his gun slightly, edging on a laugh.“Sure,” But John didn’t sound so amused.He wouldn’t be either if someone had been chasing him down and shooting at him for the past several days, and only seconds before. It hit him while standing there on this mountain, that this was his boy. His boy that he raised, that he taught, that he saved and was saved by. A brother and a son. “I got a plan, John,” It felt oddly nice to say those words again. He didn’t expect comfort from those memories. Perhaps it was just the blood loss, or fear, or something he didn’t understand.“You always got a plan, Dutch,” Even John’s words made him feel something, despite there deadpan ton and the threat of gunpoint.But he snorted slightly with a poor single chuckle, “This is a good one,” He felt something in his chest boil down to a slow cold and icy pit. He threw his gun behind him and listen to it fall down the cliffside.He remembers, and saw part of his life again in that single breath. He remembered Arthur... Another son and brother. He remembered the first time he thought he might die.John lowered his gun in surprise and stepped forward, “I don’t doubt that,”He felt all those feelings he did just moments before and pulled in a quick cold breath, “We can't always fight nature, John.” He shook his head and inched closer to the cliffs below, “We can't fight change,” He paused for a second breath, “We can't fight gravity, we can't fight nothin'. My whole life, all I ever did was fight...”“Then give up, Dutch!” Oh John... he was. But he knew what John meant. He could never turn himself in.“But I can’t give up, neither,” He wouldn’t let them win. In the end, he wanted to be the winner. He wanted to get away and this was the only way left, “I can’t fight my own nature,” He had spent so many years after Arthur died being a monster. He killed more he fought more he did more damage and he had done it with rage, “That’s the paradox, John. You See?”John didn’t waste a second, “Then I have to shoot you,”But that didn’t matter, “When I’m gone, they’ll find another monster. They have too because they have to justify their wages.”“That’s their business,” John you stupid boy. He was always dumb, wasn’t he? Dutch faced him and stood square with the wind pushing him against a bottomless pit. He shook his head. Took a breath. It hurt. It hurt as much as he expected it to be. The words slipped from his lips and they tasted bitter. “Our time is passed, John,”