The Tale of Guy - Chapter #1 - Part II

Chapter #1 - Part II

Wild Three

Watching, the man waits till the two teenage visitors flee out of sight. Until he shuffles his feet across the dirt road, flying specs along with the summer heat; dragging the man to the neighing horse still tied to a tree. The spotted horse is startled by the stranger, prancing its feet in place as it tries to warn him away. Noticing the animal's fright, the man takes his time gently. Hushing the horse, "Shh.. sh sh.. Easy there girl. I just want to help you-- that's all."

Arriving at arm's length, the man unties the lasso attached to the tree, petting the horse. "You look well taken care of. I'm sure you'll be missed, so go along--" He spanks the horse lightly yelling nonsense at it, as the horse runs down the same path as everyone else the man has ever given a fright to. He goes back to his cabin, trudging his bare-feet along the way, wiping them off with his mat that hardly does a good enough job; so he wipes them off with his hands also. Closing the door behind him, the light deactivates itself as he walks to the sink to wash his dirtied pretty hands. Truly a lonely looking man, staring blankly outside the sinks window, only thing rippling the soundwaves being the gushing forth of the old font. An ash-less fire tells its own story in the endless cold stillness it is immersed in, along with windows shut to the light of the world-- forcing the sun rays to find their way inside through the cracks of the window shutters. Only letting in enough light to guide one's head from not hitting the low door bearings. Drying his hands with a torn rag, the man goes back to sit in his rickety chair. To soon be stopped by the whistling of a pot; ornately decorated, and just about the only thing with color in this house.

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The man turns around dirt-slow, without signs of rush. He reaches out into a doorless cabinet, not having to move an inch more; for his long arms and legs raise him grandly above the faraway floor. Grabbing one of two cups, the man pours himself some boiling tea, and immediately he takes a sip without waiting for the steam to subside.

A bird decides to chirp itself above the trickling sink, and stares at the man who's already been staring at him for a while. They look at each other for a second... and the man takes a note to himself, "You're not a crow... you're a..." Before being able to finish his sentence, the black bird that wasn't a crow flies gracefully away. Leaving the man looking lonely again in his mute world... sighing softly, "Goodbye."72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEhsLoXACoA

Sitting back down in his rickety chair sipping his sizzling tea, he scrambles a pile of papers onto the otherwise empty table. Flipping each paper one by one, he sighs with every flip flipped; talking to himself,

"They'll be here any day for the payments... What am I going to do.. selfish bastards. If only I'd known... no I knew, I just--" sigh...

The man being tormented by an endless whirlpool of wandering thoughts, lays back in his chair, in hopes of grasping a moment shed for a breath, breathed easily. Blankly looking at the ceiling-- turning a minute into an hour, an hour into hours, and hours, into what seems like to the man, an eternity. The day shifts its light as it moves forward to let the moon take care of the night, changing the shadows of the room into darker, more gloomy fiends. And the taking heed of the hour, he gets himself up from resting like a corpse, knocking open a door to the second room down the hallway. Unlocking the room's only chest, and scrummaging through the chest belongings, this time-- with haste. 72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6EUxPwPAiO

Bending but a couple of inches, it looks like a tower collapsing only to soon rebuild itself as the man stands raised once again. Holding an aged old, silver revolver in hand.

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He loads it up, cocks the barrel, opens the window and shoots. BANG! bANG.! baNG..! banG...

The deathly sound everyone dreads echoes in the vast countryside. With newfound traces of the west's grim reaper set deeply inside of a shaken tree. "Ok.. not too bad-- you've been missin' the light huh?" he says, cleaning his gun with an oily rag, soon tucking it in a worn-out holster he snatches around his thin waist. Ready to set out, he's halted by his reflection-- startling himself he scoffs, "Well.. this won't do anymore will it..?" Hitting open a nightstand he slings out a knife and begins to cut off his sought after by any beard loving man, beard. 72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡClvAvdMFxB

Now he's ready. Walking outside on his porch, the sweet moonlight shines on his revealed pretty boy jawline, and he shivers, "My face is so cold now..." he puckers his plump pale lips, that blend in with his pale skin, and charges back into the house only to charge back out once again. This time with a scarf wrapped around his neck as to cover his beardless face. His eyes however, still concealed behind his no longer pathetic bangs, as he fixed them up a bit; but still left long for the sake of his shyness.

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The man sets out on two feet, regretting his decision of scaring away the spotted horse, and having no horse of his own to rest in his better in shape than his cabin, barn that sits not too far alongside it. Roughly hidden in the yellow-dried, yet somehow not dead overgrown grass. Although the rays of the devil's heat now sit below the gentle shimmer of the luna's refuge-- one may still find streaks of sweat upon the wanderers brow. The man, however, walks like the man on the moon; with ease, and grace. Soon to be found huffing as he meets his long-awaited checkpoint, walking through the streets of a mostly deserted town named Nowheresville. (Actual name of the town)

Scouting around cautiously, he notices the everyday wreck of a life sitting either drunk, high, or both, here and there; all with piercing eyes that hold a grudge for at least one person inside. Stepping up some steps, he nods at a stranger on his way,72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9cMo1LK20S

"Good night ey partner?"

"What'd you say to me?" the stranger trudges lousily towards the man.

"Whoa there-- I ain't looking for trouble now." The man says calmly, walking into the saloon. And the stranger yells, "Yeah that's what I thought!"

Shaking his head, the man sits in one of many empty seats at the bar-station. His quivering lip met with stares, tainted with thoughts that might as well be said-- "Don't try me boy." A saying often said by a man who can't sling for his life, even if it means his beloved dog named after his second wife, Gretchen, (because the first wife got stolen by their "always gotta be you" cousin, in the first gun-slinging match) gets taken by their "easy on the eyes" second cousin. These sad happenings are being reminisced in the minds of the only two sorry sirs sitting together at a table. Of course, with his rare hairstyle in this times, he also manages to catch the curiosity of the severely old bartender, who walks on over.72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK7QX3mnopf

"Havn't seen you round here-- what say your fancy?" the bartender says with a wild eye.72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP5uD0WWCU0

"Not much of a sayer." hunched over, the man responds.

"Not even a quench to cool the heat out ya mouth?"

"Just a ripple will do, thank you."

"Hm." Walking away, the bartender goes to fetch the man some water.

Shaking his knee, the man waits for his water while rubbing his naked chin. The old bartender notices his subtle anxiety, when sliding on over a shot of water, "Here ya are. Finest ripple you'll drink for miles." he says with a slight chuckle. And nodding as if to say thank you, the man grabs the cup with shaky hands, gulping down the water heartily; feeling the wild stare of the bartender who wipes clean some cups. Sliding back the cup, the man raises his head, "'nother round?"72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlZmWiEd5JQ

"Heh.. Yes sir."

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At the turn of the old bartender, the man begins to inch for his gun getting ready to say the common saying, "Put your hands up!" A gnarly voice yells, as 3 men charge inside the saloon shooting up the place without a care for life. The man jumps over the counter, ducking from the rampaging bullets. However, it doesn't do much of protecting him as the wood is old and weak; letting bullets crack it and slit open the flesh of the man who holds back his cry of agony. The "could have been a source of intel" bartender dies along with the other two "innocent" men there. When bullets cease to fire, the momentary peace is broken by a hearty laughter,

"aHAa Just like swattin' some flies boys! Franco! Search them corpses, might be somethin' of value on'em."72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOaaztW49NI

"Don't remember there being a vote to put you in charge Gustavo."

"I am the biggest, bravest, most logical choice of a leader. I thought it as naturally implied."72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2G6uoQIb4F

Chuckling, an odd man interrupts with a hick accent, "I thought ya also needed brains to be a leader!"

"Shut up Reggie! Like you're one to speak. Now get to groundin' this place!" 72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdx4TcZchJc

Franco whistles a mocking tune, as Reggie remains chuckling, "Oh scary brawns!"

Gripping his injured arm in writhing pain, he clenches his teeth as he peeks out from behind the bar-station; laying his eyes upon the odd band of men.72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQcpMGvlRVL

Firstly, the one with the hearty holler, and named Gustavo, puffs out his chest 24/7 showcasing his broad shoulders and muscular build. Along with black whiskers paired with thick fluffy eyebrows, and a pair of chapped lips; just about his only normal feature that rests upon his hardened by the bullets of the sun face. And dressed in the usual cowboy fashion. The best way to describe Gustavo would be a brute man, dead-set on the line between being ugly, and just about attractive; his personality being the worst of the bunch with his pride that beats any man.

Looking more to the right, the man sees the brutes' fellow partners, one searching the remains of the persons shot dead, and the other on look out.

Franco, noticed second, and already a short lad, appears even shorter when hurled over in squat position. With hair more wispy than the petals of flower, and colored as white as a rich ladies poodle, it creates a fair looking son; with his features prettier than a lady in bloom. Which can go without much contemplation, has gotten Franco in trouble quite a number of times. Finest way of description of Franco is, a son that's pretty enough to put all women in the bar out of their job, with a personality with no hesitation to kill an unwanted presence. And last but not the finale, the man on look out, Reggie. Now Reggie is a difficult man, that just about tries every man's patience, yet somehow not difficult to gather heart for once gathered round the fire. Buzzed head hidden underneath his tattered cowboy hat, a nasty scar that carves straight down from the back of his ear to his spine. However, not much to say about features, just a common man with a blind eye and missing teeth. His roughness telling their own tales. All that needs to be said about this man, is a man driven crazy to the core, with a residing passion for life inside a heart of gold.

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