The Land is The Enemy
The landscape exuded hostility. Even the sun was too hot, the air too dry. The visitor looked straight ahead, eyes focused on the group of trees up ahead. He did not look back, certainly did not turn around, for he had a bad feeling something was following him.
The visitor hurried. The trees were still far ahead, and the silence was eerie. He heard a sound behind, and started running.
He expected to be attacked, and was not disappointed. Intense pain radiated through his back from the first strike as his ribs were separated. There was a thud as his vertebrae separated.
His screams echoed in the fading landscape as his body was shred to bits, his consciousness flapping away from the unbearable pain like a flock of birds, then to be chopped again, red-stained feathers flying and finally landing on the red dirt.