Carson walked aimlessly down the dusty and lonely road. Where he was going, not even he knew. The sun was just rising sleepily from behind the trees to his left. A little bird hopped from behind a small lilac bush and whistled a cheerful note. It stopped and cocked its little head questioningly at the lonely traveler. Stooping, Carson picked up the little bird, who could not fly and petted it gently. After a brief moment of deliberation, he decide to call him Craig. With his new companion in hand, Carson continued on his journey. After a while, Carson began telling Craig his life story. He told how he was homeschooled, the fire, and how he was alone. How long had he been alone two, no three years maybe more. Well it had been three years sense his little sister Dixie had die. Why was all he could say for weeks. Craig listened intently, pondering every word that Carson spoke. At least, that's what Carson thought Craig was doing. At last Carson fell silent; he was getting tired of talking anyways. Craig gave a few encouraging chirps then too fell silent. Soon the pair reached a small stream. Carson placed Craig on the water’s side to allow him to drink. Craig chirped thankfully and took several little sips of water. With his partner refreshed, Carson placed the little bird in his pocket and took a long drink of his own. As he raised his head from taking a long draught, Carson heard the sound of several feet coming up from the other side of the stream. Soon five young men emerged from the underbrush. Straightening himself, Carson looked questioningly at the new comers. They returned the stare, but not a questioning one. The largest of the men made a quick gesture and began wading the steam. The others spread out. Two were on each side and they started wading. It took them each only a couple steps before they reached the other side. Carson started to back up, unsure whether to run or stay where he stood. The leader bent down and picked up a stick. Oak—it was strong and light. Moving slowly he reached into his side to unsheathe a heavy and wicked looking knife. Craig gave a little chirp of warning and burrowed deeper into Carson’s pocket. Carson braced himself for a confrontation. In his mind, he thought to himself how he must not let them surround or corner him, find a weapon, and match whatever they did. If they wanted to rob him and let him be, he would give them want they wanted. The only things he had were the clothes on his back and Craig. Well, he would not give them Craig. Craig was his friend and he was not going to give him up. If they intended to harm him, he would have to protect himself. Both parties stood there, unmoving, each seemed to be waiting for the other to make a move. Then, the leader took his knife and began shaving the bark off the stick with a dry scraping sound. He asked questions. So many questions. Carson stood there unable to answer them all. Who was he? Where did he come from? Where was he going? The scraping sound seemed to grow louder and louder. The leader seemed to get closer and closer. Carson tried to run but his legs won't move. Carson fell to his knees, he was so tired. Why was life so hard? Why do men strive so hard for greatness when it can be taken away so easily? Why do people try so hard to improve life and the world they live in, when others can snatch what they have done away so fast. Why should he fight these men? If they did not kill him others would. What could he gain from a few more weeks, days, hours, minutes, even seconds of life. Could he do anything in that time worth anything? Could he make an impact on this earth or would his extra sliver of life merely prolong the scene that would look something like a poor traveler lying dead on the way side of the road for men like himself to scoff at when they themselves were as close to death as he, even though he was dead. The leader smiled a small smile that was tender, yet seemed to say how very close Carson was to death. Then the leader turned and took a step away. Carson rose slowly, looking at this threatening man’s back. Then like a viper, the leader swung around and struck Carson. Stunned, Carson fell back with a cry. Blood trickled from a long cut across his face. All the men laughed as Carson lay there bleeding and crying. Carson reached into his pocket and found that Craig had been crushed by his fall. He lifted the broken little body of his only friend in many years. Then with renewed strength, he grabbed a rock and leaped at the leader, tackling the creature and striking him again and again. Carson then arose from his slain foe and turned and faced the leader’s stunned followers. Seeing their leader dead and the strength of their opponent, they fled. Carson again fell to his knees and held little Craig in his hand and cried for his faithful little friend. Racked with guilt he buried Craig were he sat, beside the stream. As he arose pain jarred Carson's body. Looking down he saw at least four deep stab wounds in his side. The leader had struck him many times when Carson had leaped upon him. Yet Carson, driven by anger, had barely even felt those wounds. Seeing the severity of his injury, Carson dragged himself to a tree and leaned back. He was so tired. He would rest then continue on his journey. He really was so very sleepily…. The sound of a lone train echoed far away, then fell silent.

Editing Ideas:

Edited: Could he make an impact on this earth or would his extra sliver of life merely prolong the scene. The of a poor traveler lying dead on the way side of the road, and for men like himself to scoff at when they themselves were as close to death as he, even though he was dead.
Original: Could he do anything in that time worth anything? Could he make an impact on this earth or would his extra sliver of life merely prolong the scene that would look something like a poor traveler lying dead on the way side of the road for men like himself to scoff at when they themselves were as close to death as he, even though he was dead.