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I'm in, writing for Romancin' & Wranglin'
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May 2, 2013 13:14
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| # ¿ Jul 27, 2024 09:26 |
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My submission to Romancin' and Wranglin' as follows. ----- Robbing Galt (1167 Words with title) I never liked stealing silver or gold. The stuff was too drat heavy, and it seemed easier to just take bills, or watches, or even fine suits from the sons a bitches that ride trains like the ones me and Jaybird tended to rob. Jaybird, though. “We'll need it once the Union collapses,” He'd always go on about it, saying, “Ain't no paper money gonna help you then, Buck.” I thought he was dumber then a bag of bricks when he got up to his ways, all gesticulating and arguing like a child would argue that he needs another cookie. I went along in the end, but I felt mighty stupid carrying a bag of metal and bullshit around, as some Marshal shot at me in the meanwhile. I ran through carpeted passages, past suitcases and carpetbags toward the end of the car as a bullet flew into my hat, and some real smartly dressed lawman yelled the usual claptrap that gets yelled at train robbers. I shouldered the door hard enough I'd feel it for a few days, and sprawled out into the open air of the sunset plains. I shot at the coupling keeping the two cars connected, and I tried my damnedest to climb a ladder to the top of the train with a handful of shooting iron and silver. I spied Jaybird on his mangy old horse, and he just beamed at me. “Marshals ain't got no dominion over free citizens, Buck.” He told me before I got on the train. “We get this haul, and no laws of any government will ever constrain our love again!” I desperately wanted to tell him the fact of the matter was that no matter where we went, governments not amicable to our kind would spring up all over the place, but he just looks so earnest when he talks about this poo poo. I heard Jaybird yell something that was almost lost in the whipping winds, but his pointing finger got enough of a message across. The Canyon. I told the idjit we'd never manage to get the robbery fully taken care of before we reached Hare's Canyon, but he'd convinced me to give it a shot anyhow with those big beautiful blue eyes of his. His horse skidded to a halt not a hair's breadth from the edge, and I saw the dust beneath me give way to wooden bridgework. The ring of gunshots in my direction let me know that the Marshal had hopped his way between cars to keep me company. Just my luck. I felt the weight of my gun as I scrambled for a grip on the swaying locomotive, not even bothering to aim as I let the last shots fly from my revolver. My horror at running out of shot was soon multiplied as I felt the bag of silver in my hand suddenly grow light, an errant shot scoring it's side and dropping it's bounty toward the emptiness below. I felt my spirit die a little, watching as empty canyon gave way to flattened desert once more. Then I looked toward the end of the train, and saw the most wonderful thing I swear any man has seen before, or since. Not the marshal, loading up more rounds to make an effort at dropping me. Not the golden disc of a rapidly dropping sun. It was Jaybird, riding behind the train. I got up with all the grace and gumption of a newborn foal, and began crawling toward the back of the runaway iron horse. The marshal just looked a bit confused for a moment, trying to load some manner of six-shooter from behind the cover of sole remaining car between us. I don't know at what point I broke into a run, but I suppose I'm lucky I didn't fall from the train and break my fool neck for sprinting across the roof of the remaining cars, as that marshal took his licks at me. I felt the barest of stings as a round passed by my arm, but I was too drunk on hope, piss and vinegar to give half a drat. I don't entirely recall throwing my gun at the tin star's nose, but Jaybird assures me it happened, and it was the funniest thing he'd ever laid eyes on. I just remember Jaybird's hand outstretched, his big blue eyes as full of fear as mine were. I coiled and jumped, too terrified I'd lose my chance if the marshal managed a clean hit on me to care how close I'd get to Jaybird and that mangy horse. That moment of freedom, leaping through the dry desert sky, is something I will always cherish. The feeling of hitting the ground, hard, and just barely catching Jaybird's hand as he dragged my sorry rear end behind him is something I'd much rather care to relinquish to the sands of time. Even as the ground shredded my clothes and my sides, and I felt a strange lurch as a bullet found a mark in Jaybird's horse, I cannot imagine my smile fading even a lick, now that the safety of the ground had found me. Me and Jay tossed and turned for a good while in that dust, the Marshal either throwing curses at us, or celebrating what he might as well have reckoned was a fine shot with just enough volume to break through the haze of injury and vertigo. Jaybird got up first, all skittery and quick, like some dumb bastard'd find us all the way out here, or the Marshal'd hop off and slap irons on us. I took his hand in mind, wincing at the raw and bloody skin on my palm, but for all the world I must have looked like the cat that ate the canary. He broke into a run, breathless and still wide-eyed. “How much we get? How much you get away with?” I just tossed aside the mostly empty bag, laughing like a maniac. He cursed a little while, and kept running till he was out of breath, gasping his words at me “poo poo, Buck, poo poo! This weren't how it was supposed to go.” He put his grimy hands on the worn-out knees of his blue jeans, and I just put an arm across his back. “Marshals'll be after us now, and we ain't got poo poo to show for it! What're we gonna do?” “We got by. That's enough.” He looked at me funny, and tried to gasp out something with ragged breaths, but I put a finger to his lips. “You're ruining this sunset, feller.” Jaybird tried to speak again, but I just took his head in my hand, and pressed my lips against his as hard as I could muster. His cheeks were rough and his stubble scratched, but Jaybird always felt gentle as rain to me. I kept at it for a long while, before we walked toward the miles of desert now before us.
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May 6, 2013 04:07
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I'm in, writing 'bout Ukraine and the aphorism "The way to be safe is never to be secure."
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May 8, 2013 20:07
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In.
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May 14, 2013 06:00
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In. But I'll know my song well before I start singing
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Dec 3, 2013 06:06
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Creeping Fireflies Wordcount: 593 (Lyric: But I'll know my song well before I start singing) Isaac was to a point where he wasn't sure there was ever anything other than this. Blindness, pain, fear. He used to remember how he got here, but now he couldn't. It had been so long. He used to remember how long. There was a house, abandoned. It could have had food for him and ol' Gus. He went in with the hound dog and was looking through cabinets when the floor gave way to the dark. He'd woken up and tried screaming at first but after the first few hours, or days, or years, he'd had to stop because he wasn't making noise anymore. The smell of blood and dirt, the searing pain from his legs, and that gnawing fear went away after a while in the dark. There simply wasn't enough left in Isaac to notice them. The wreckage on his legs felt sharp and cold once, but now it just felt like nothing at all. Sometimes, when he was trying to fall asleep, Isaac could feel things somewhere, but he couldn't see anything in the dark. He couldn’t find anything. When he woke up in a panic, trying to scream again, Gus always barked and scared whatever was touching Isaac away. Gus was such a good boy. The still, thick air in the dark got riled up when Gus started shaking under Isaac's arm. It was wonderful to feel something after so long without moving. It didn't occur to Isaac for a long while that Gus was shaking because he was afraid again. It was so hard to think down in the hole. Things stopped making sense, and Isaac couldn't remember what things meant. He'd stopped trying a while back. Even in the haze he knew he didn't want Gus to feel afraid. He started singing, and trying to stroke Gus' ears with a hand that had long since stopped feeling anything. Isaac's songs had always made Gus happy before, and made his little stump of a tail wag. Isaac even knew what he'd sing. The first time he'd tried singing to calm down ol' Gus the words came easy. It was a song he couldn't remember anymore, after so long in the dark. Something someone that loved Isaac once sang to him a long time ago. As the dark stretched on, the words got harder and harder to remember, and he started running out of things to sing to the tune. Now it was just wild sound. The song started as loud as Isaac could muster. After so long in the quiet, it was nearly deafening, but he couldn't stop anymore. The lyrics that weren't there kept coming, and Isaac watched as fireflies danced into his eyes. It was the first thing he and Gus had seen in the dark in so long. With each wordless verse, the song got quieter, and it got harder to think. Isaac didn't even know who was singing anymore, he just wanted to keep listening. Gus stopped shaking and untensed under Isaac's arm just as that song started sputtering out. There wasn't even enough left down in dark to smile at Gus, but Isaac tried anyhow. No way to tell how long either of them had been down in the dark, shaking, he was just glad Gus wasn't scared anymore. Isaac didn't want to be scared anymore either. Why was that singer stopping? The fireflies kept getting closer and closer in Issac's eyes, and he heard the singing man somewhere grow quieter and quieter. He didn't care anymore if they stopped singing.
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Dec 9, 2013 00:21
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I'm in with Singlish.
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Dec 10, 2013 02:22
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I don't seem to be capable of writing anything that doesn't seem at least slightly, mildly offensive. Gonna drop.
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Dec 15, 2013 23:50
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| # ¿ Jul 27, 2024 09:26 |
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I am down to brawl, Bitchtits McGee.
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Dec 16, 2013 23:16
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