A Continuation, I'll call this one, "Yorick?"

As they raced down joyously to the city limits, something shining caught their eye. Seng and Marin, sidetracked, curiously trotted over to a strange object, which was half buried beneath the dry sand. Seng unearthed it from the ground to reveal what appeared to be a mangled mechanical forearm, with an old battered robotic hand still loosely attached. As he held it up to examine further, a small mountain of sand poured out from either end. A few spots of rust had burnt holes through the metal, with a few frayed wires hanging out from where the forearm had been presumably detached from its other parts. The sand had rubbed a myriad of small, thin scratches into the metal, but it was still clear enough to noticeably reflect the sunlight. Marin, looking over Seng's shoulder, made a barely audible "Huh."
Affixed on the arm, slowly, they both looked up directly ahead. Strewn about the plane ahead of them was a scattered collection of similar semi-visible metallic components, glinting analogously with each other and the piece in Seng's hands. In wordless impulse, the two spent the next half hour walking around collecting the various pieces. The horses stood in the background, aloof, occasionally paying attention to watch their masters toil.
Finally, Seng and Marin dumped their armfulls of metallic parts into the cart. They wiped their sweaty, dirty faces, though their shirtsleeves weren't much better. Marin stumbled over another small piece. He picked it up, cleared the sand out, and beckoned Seng over. In his hand, Marin held a metallic piece reminiscent of a human skull. Clearly from an android, though it's dark, empty eye sockets told of a very sad story of past dismemberment and abuse, as if these parts once composed a human being. They got back on their horses, and rode to the city's entrance. Marin rode with the metal skull in his lap, pondering it all the way.

A monday night's dream (dear readers)

So there I was, face to face with the assistant principal of our school, a woman who at one time was my kindergarden teacher. Thanks to my blatant omission of diplomacy, the conversation we were holding quickly heated up. As is the norm in reality, I proclaimed several rude, yet truthful, remarks; and in keeping with realism, I no longer recall exactly what I had said. Luckily for you, dear readers, this is where the realism ends. It just so happened that my assistant principal was the shogun of this particular dream realm. I realized her status all too late, for at that moment I noticed three imposing samurai standing nearby, radiating the unmistakable aura of rage. Their hairy, manly, contorted faces conveyed to me the emotion of "What the fuck did you just say?" I followed the shapes of their traditional armor down to their weapons, conveniently drawn. Oh, how I loathe that familiar sinking sensation. I bolted off, and of course, I was zealously chased down. Let me tell you, dear readers, never disrespect a shogun in front of samurai, I can attest to how fucked you will be, based off of personal experience. It wasn't long before the samurai had caught up with me. They swung their blades through my neck, and my head rolled off my body. Somehow, I had survived my beheading. I (now nothing more than a head) was picked up and presented to the shogun. Just then, I burst into a rabid, spiteful fit, spewing profanity, concurrently scaring off my killers. Apparently, an angry severed head shouting insults is surprising. I ferociously chomped onto the petrified woman's ear, and succeeded in ripping it off. After that, the dream started to fade away. I suppose I taught her a lesson in the end, and while I did claim a few small triumphs of my own, I was still left as nothing more than a detached head. Not too admirable.