The Last Witness of Santa Fe
Santa Fe, 1882 — The O’Neil homestead burned beneath a blood-red sky. There were screams, the crack of gunfire… and then silence. When the smoke settled, only Maggie O’Neil remained — a twelve-year-old girl hiding in a root cellar while her world was destroyed above her.
For two long days, Maggie lay between life and death. She drank from muddy puddles, clutched her father’s shattered pocket watch, and listened to the flames devour everything she knew. Outside, the wind carried the cries of crows circling over the ruins.
When she finally crawled out, her dress was in tatters, her hair thick with ash. The cabin was gone. Her parents and brothers — gone with it. Barefoot, she wandered into town, her face pale as smoke, whispering what she had seen: men on horseback, their flags, their laughter.
But no one believed her. The story was too brutal, the truth too unbearable.
Years passed. Then, on a deathbed miles away, one of those riders confessed. The town fell silent. They realized Maggie O’Neil had spoken the truth all along.
But by then, she had vanished — a ghost in memory, the last witness to a night the frontier wished to forget.
