Two cowboys on horseback observe a UFO and emerging alien figures in a dramatic, dark red desert canyon at dusk.

Using this prompt: Rode out with Sundance this evening. Sky was the color of old blood, clouds hanging low like they meant trouble. We were cutting back toward the Wall, taking the long way around the ridge. Quiet ride. Too quiet, maybe. Then the light came. Not lightning. Not lantern. Not fire. A white so sharp it made the whole mesa shine like polished bone. It dropped out of the sky fast — then slowed, drifting like it was thinking about where to land. Settled on the flat top of the red rock. No sound. No dust. Just sitting there, glowing like a star that got tired of the heavens. Sundance said maybe it was a trick of the dusk. I told him dusk don’t move like that. We got close enough to see it weren’t any wagon. No horses. No wheels. No smoke. No man alive could’ve built something that smooth. Looked like metal, but not any metal I know. Too clean. Too bright. Then a seam opened in the side — not a door, not a hatch. Just… opened. Like the thing was breathing. Three figures stepped out. Tall. Thin. Skin tight and dark like jerky hung too long in the sun. They moved wrong — like their joints bent where joints shouldn’t be. One lifted an arm, long as a fence rail, and pointed straight at us. Didn’t hear a shout. Didn’t hear a word. But something cold slid behind my eyes, like a thought that wasn’t mine. The other two started down the slope. Fast. Faster than any man should run on rock that steep. Sundance whispered, “Butch… we goin’?” I said, “We’re gone.” We turned and Ver más