Post by Lyle on May 7, 2009 21:37:11 GMT -5
"Out down in the west where not even the scripture could save you from those eternal rays, that's where ya find em.' Those bastards of the war, those corrupt to the point of sickening; not hard to sight from far either- and by god I warn you son you'll only ever get close enough as their rifle will allow ya. They are a different breed of human. You see, this land is wild and untamed, it will forever be, that is nature and that is law. Man was not meant to live in these parts, but boy these sonsofbitches are the closet thing that can. Worse than coyotes and smarter than the damn Indians."
The sun cracked through rough mornin' clouds, roaring in like a mighty steam train and destroyed all calm and tranquility of the desert landscape. For you see in the desert, or as we call it around here ' The Badlands,' sunrise was a truly special time of day. All of gods creatures, even the damned Indians woke, stretched, ate what was left from the day before and then went about their business without any qualm. All were equal at this time of day... that is all but one soul. He was the usual type, a gruff ol gunslinger with little aspiration for those around him, wasting away out where society's rules did no longer apply. His predicament, which was well known through these parts, was that his freedom was in jeopardy- for he had been taken into custody of the ol Bishops. His body began to stir, finding himself tied by chain to a large boulder up upon a winding path of the mountain where the gang's makeshift headquarters ended up.
So here he was, chained, without food and bitter over the whiskey he hadn't drunk last night. Ten feet away a hungover Bishop dozed lazily in the morning light, the mountain landscape a natural curtain.
Now Bishops weren't that smart, especially in the fact that they'd chained their 'catch' with fifteen foot long chain. This mistake would naturally cost one of their lives; so was the way of the west- one quickly learned what the hell they were doing or otherwise face death. So as the oldest Bishop brother and leader of the gang arose to check on his younger brother Clark, he found the error of his ways. It took him a moment, that whiskey had fried his mind nearly blank, and what was left had been cooked up by early morning sun; his gasp however awoke his senses.. Laying on the ground just before him was the young boy's limp body. Wide eyed with colt peacemaker already drawn the older Bishop quickly called for attention and set off down the small crack in the mountain that his prisoner had escaped through. He intended nothing more than to kill the man. Behind him Clark slowly slipped into the blue of rigamortis and half dozen drunkards arose none the wiser.
[first post I've made in months
open.]
