Post by John Gray on Jan 26, 2008 21:45:52 GMT -5
John sat quietly in a rocking chair outside of the jailhouse smoking a cigarette and listening to the sounds of the street. People passed in front of him and gave him the slightest of nods from time to time, which he casually returned with a touch on his wide brimmed hat. He always enjoyed doing this in the afternoons, gave him time to think.
If anyone could see behind those eyes, they would see a network of well oiled gears turning, formulating plans and ideas which may or may not ever come to fruition. Look a little deeper, however, and they would see one particular thought that stayed constant no matter what: his plan to return the disservice those outlaws had paid him over 3 years prior. He already had thought about what he would do when he found them (extreme discomfort being the top of the list).
Outwardly, his expression was somewhat blank, save for the smile he gave to the passing citizens of Horsehead from time to time. For a moment, he nearly allowed himself to think that the entire afternoon was going to be peaceful. However, this soon changed.
Two men he had watched leave the saloon moments before began to argue. As he strained his ear to listen, he soon realized that the argument was about money. "Typical," he thought to himself. "Sometimes I wonder if certain folk should spare themselves the whiskey during poker." It was only then he heard the familiar click of a pistol hammer being pulled back. Both men had turned their weapons on each other and had that cold stare John knew all too well. It was the stare that could kill a person if it were a weapon.
He grabbed his rifle and took aim. "Don't hit them, John, just give them a jump," he told himself, remembering the time he'd accidentally shot a drunk in the leg when aiming for the space between his feet. Whenever he aimed this way, he always felt time was slowing to a creep. He listened to his heartbeat (Don't get distracted now), took in a deep breath (Carefully, carefully, between them not AT them), found his mark then squeezed the trigger. The bullet found it's mark dead center, causing both men to jump and look in his direction. John stepped down from the porch and released the empty bullet casing.
"Am I to understand we're having a little misunderstanding here, boys?" he asked calmly. He always had a habit of being a bit condescending in situations like this. It was something the boss had been trying to fix.
Both men said no, a lie of course but John was in no mood to press the issue since he saw they had both gotten the message. "Well then, how about this? You fine gentlemen take this money here (he handed them one of the $1 bills in his pocket) and go buy yourselves and a couple of the lovely ladies in the saloon a round and call it a day?" They looked at each other suspiciously for a moment then back at him. All that was needed was for him to add an extra push of, "If that ain't clear, we can always go back to the jailhouse and discuss it there. As I see it, you boys got yourself a mighty fine out here. If I were you, and believe me I was a long time ago, I'd take it." and both men were on their way, arm in arm.
John made his way back to the porch and returned to his chair. This was how his life had been since the Sheriff had given him a second chance at life and there wasn't any way he would give it up for love or money.
If anyone could see behind those eyes, they would see a network of well oiled gears turning, formulating plans and ideas which may or may not ever come to fruition. Look a little deeper, however, and they would see one particular thought that stayed constant no matter what: his plan to return the disservice those outlaws had paid him over 3 years prior. He already had thought about what he would do when he found them (extreme discomfort being the top of the list).
Outwardly, his expression was somewhat blank, save for the smile he gave to the passing citizens of Horsehead from time to time. For a moment, he nearly allowed himself to think that the entire afternoon was going to be peaceful. However, this soon changed.
Two men he had watched leave the saloon moments before began to argue. As he strained his ear to listen, he soon realized that the argument was about money. "Typical," he thought to himself. "Sometimes I wonder if certain folk should spare themselves the whiskey during poker." It was only then he heard the familiar click of a pistol hammer being pulled back. Both men had turned their weapons on each other and had that cold stare John knew all too well. It was the stare that could kill a person if it were a weapon.
He grabbed his rifle and took aim. "Don't hit them, John, just give them a jump," he told himself, remembering the time he'd accidentally shot a drunk in the leg when aiming for the space between his feet. Whenever he aimed this way, he always felt time was slowing to a creep. He listened to his heartbeat (Don't get distracted now), took in a deep breath (Carefully, carefully, between them not AT them), found his mark then squeezed the trigger. The bullet found it's mark dead center, causing both men to jump and look in his direction. John stepped down from the porch and released the empty bullet casing.
"Am I to understand we're having a little misunderstanding here, boys?" he asked calmly. He always had a habit of being a bit condescending in situations like this. It was something the boss had been trying to fix.
Both men said no, a lie of course but John was in no mood to press the issue since he saw they had both gotten the message. "Well then, how about this? You fine gentlemen take this money here (he handed them one of the $1 bills in his pocket) and go buy yourselves and a couple of the lovely ladies in the saloon a round and call it a day?" They looked at each other suspiciously for a moment then back at him. All that was needed was for him to add an extra push of, "If that ain't clear, we can always go back to the jailhouse and discuss it there. As I see it, you boys got yourself a mighty fine out here. If I were you, and believe me I was a long time ago, I'd take it." and both men were on their way, arm in arm.
John made his way back to the porch and returned to his chair. This was how his life had been since the Sheriff had given him a second chance at life and there wasn't any way he would give it up for love or money.