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I will be in.
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Mar 31, 2023 21:47
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| # ¿ Sep 9, 2024 19:13 |
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Dead Weight 1000 words Jim roused with a shriek, pawing at the throbbing spot on his chest where Deacon’s slug had struck. His fingers found a black-singed hole in the drab cotton, right over his heart, but no blood, or pain. Confused but pleased, Jim looked up to smirk at the preacher-turned-lawman only to find he was no longer in the dirty back alley behind the White Elephant, but in a courtroom. He was seated at a great mahogany table. Moonlight streamed through the windows, and he was alone. The half-grin went as fast as it came. “Where in hell am I?” A voice boomed from the bench. “Not there yet, son. Let’s give the mouths a chance to jaw a bit.” A grizzled, man-size staghound in judicial robes towered above him. Its voice was heavy with Texan drawl. Jim smacked his palms to his face, dragging at his eyelids until they stung. When he looked back up, the staghound was still there. It had dark fur and its muzzle was filled with white, luminescent fangs it bared in a smile. He was about to speak when a hand – no, a vise – clamped onto his shoulder. He twisted painfully and found himself face-to-face with a skeleton. Jim shrieked again and impotently tried to wrench his shoulder from its grip. “Don’t you worry, Jim, we’ll get you in apple pie order.” Unlike the staghound, the skeleton had the lilt and garb of a northern dandy, its charcoal suit a stark contrast to Jim’s grimy chaps. “Evening, y'all!” A second booming drawl, this time from across the courtroom, drew Jim’s bulging eye to a fresh horror: a rotting corpse in a blood-spattered paisley vest, doffing a Stetson in deference to the judge. The skeleton let go of Jim. “Oh, gods, it’s Hicks.” It rose to exchange tense pleasantries with the dead man across the aisle. Jim sunk into his chair and tried not to vomit. Slipping a hand under his shirt, he felt for a heartbeat and grimaced. When the skeleton came back and started taking notes, Jim gave its elbow a nudge. “Hey, skeleton, I’m dead, aren’t I? This is judgement day, and you’re my lawyer?” The skeleton didn’t look up. “Not as stupid as you look, then. Name’s Willard. Listen, Jim, it’s not looking good." “Why, ‘cause of that dead feller? Hicks, you said?” Willard turned to Jim. “Understand me, Jim, Hicks doesn’t lose. Never has. He's the best, and good friends with the judge to boot. I’ve got some ideas, though. You just sit there and look like you didn’t rob and murder people for a living.” “Hey now, I didn’t murder nobody. I was defendin’ myself.” The lawyer scoffed and went back to his notes. “Sure, and those stagecoaches just gave you the money.” Jim considered bickering, but thought twice; he’d pissed off lawyers before and suffered for it. His eyes flicked to the back of the room. Where he had hoped to see an escape route stood a gargantuan mural of people ascending to Heaven. He smiled, thinking fondly of his mother’s badgering about guardian angels. Leaning out of his seat, Jim craned his neck to see the bottom of the painting. He felt his knees give out. Poor souls down there weren’t going up, no sir! Jim cursed his Ma roundly. --- Minutes, or maybe hours, passed as the lawyers prepared arguments. Jim was sure he was stuck when a shrewd look rose on his face like a bad moon. It was the same last look most of his co-conspirators saw before Jim declined to share the loot. Jim’s hand drifted down to his hip, but found only an empty holster. That was it, then. He was out of ideas. Thankfully the judge spoke and saved him the struggle of having to think too hard. “All right folks, let’s get this pony shown.” The hound waved a paw, and the prosecutor began. Jim felt a familiar cockiness as the lawyer droned. He’d beat the noose before. But Jim paled as Hicks ran through the litany of his misdeeds, ranging from the greatest – murder, theft, arson (“…of a CHURCH, Your Honor!”) – to the least, including lies he told Ma to get out of chores as a kid. At the end, Jim’s bile bubbled at the back of his throat. The staghound’s lightless eyes took him in. “An outlaw to the manner born, James.” Its voice took on a resonance that Jim felt in his bones. A pair of ivory scales appeared on the bench, a bloody heart on one side. With another flourish of paw, the judge drew a handful of bullets from nothing and dropped one for each of his murders onto the other side. It added a leather-bound book and a stack of gold coins. Each addition made the pan sink lower until the heart was raised to its apex. The judge looked at Willard. “The defense, if you please.” Willard opened by extolling the meager set of Jim’s virtues with exaggerated reverence. Jim prayed silently for deliverance, hoping God or whoever would keep his feet out of the hellfire. He watched as the judge listened impassively. Hicks looked unimpressed. But perhaps someone was listening. As Willard increased his fervor and delivered what seemed to Jim a flexible – but appreciated – version of the truth, the judge moved. Sometimes it tore pages from the book, or removed a heavy gold coin. A single bullet was withdrawn. To Jim’s amazement, when Willard concluded, the scale stood even, and Hicks shot a grudging look of respect at his fleshless opponent. Jim sneered. He did it! He beat the most important noose of all, the Devil’s Own! The staghound nodded. “Well argued. His heart seems to have been in the right place...” “Just a moment, Your Honor.” They all turned to watch as Hicks stood. In one mottled hand he cradled a well-worn magnum. Jim closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see his gun, or the grinning corpse placing it on the scales.
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Apr 3, 2023 02:20
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Thank you for the crit! It was not enough words. I almost decided to DQ and not post because I didn't like the finished product for the very reason you gave - I didn't do a good enough job fleshing out Jim. Probably bad choice to try and get description in versus characterizing Jim. In the end I ran out of time/mental re-write energy. Anyway cheers and good prompt.
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Apr 3, 2023 13:44
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Rationally, I love this thread and engaging my creativity, and I lurk the gently caress out all the time. But I have trouble with criticism, despite knowing the only way to get good is to do it again and again. I don't mind the kayfabe, but my brain chemistry has real problems with a constant reminder I was poo poo one week and so I don't sign up. I know I shouldn't care, but I don't want to spend 5 bucks a week figuring out how to get good at writing / plot / dialogue / adjusting my thinking so a losertar wouldn't bother me. So I'll continue to lurk and, like others, maybe enter when I know I have a lot of time to write and hone something. Thanks to all the contributors, I enjoy reading your stuff!
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Jun 6, 2023 14:45
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Never mind, I don't think I'll have time :/
sephiRoth IRA fucked around with this message at 07:40 on Jul 25, 2023 |
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Jul 25, 2023 06:40
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I'm in!
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Aug 8, 2023 12:50
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sephiRoth IRA fucked around with this message at 13:33 on Nov 20, 2023 |
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Nov 20, 2023 06:52
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| # ¿ Sep 9, 2024 19:13 |
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Nov 28, 2023 21:17
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