ZainTheInsane
Well-Known Member
I honestly don't know where to put this...because it really doesn't fit in the Weight Fiction archive...so I put it here. I'm looking for constructive criticism, editing tips, and anything else people have to say about the story. It is one of my earlier works, but I think it has a lot of potential...:bow:
This story is in six parts. Each has its own perspective; the point of view which it is told is different. The first point of view is from a retired cobbler at the bar. The second is one of five poker players at a table playing Texas Hold’em. Another is a man across from the second man who is a member of an outlaw party trying to keep low in the town for a few days while they wait for their boss to get back from Tennessee, where he is attempting to tie up some loose ends. The fourth man is the man who initiates the events of this tale, a drunk, who is one of the town’s two blacksmiths…the less prosperous of the two, who is drinking himself under because his wife just died in childbirth. The second to last one is of the bartender himself, tending his usual routine when this story begins. The last soul we encounter is that of a man split in two. On one side of his life a never ending quest for redemption, and vengeance. On the other side of the coin, he is a ruthless and vicious man. You’ll see as the story plays out what I mean. Meanwhile, sit back, as I repeat to you the story of the Scarred Gunman.[/FONT]
When I got up the morning after my decision, it was a bright, day. My eyes were pierced by the light, which so vividly broke the rhythm of my sleep. I felt the old aches of sleeping in a lumpy bed, as well as ancient aches and pain that only come with age. I propped myself up slowly, my muscles protesting the movements every inch of the way. Aching and sore, I rose, and walked over to the wash bin, and looked at my reflection in the dirt covered mirror. I was old, nearly 60, wrinkles lined my weathered face, and old scars had receded much like my hairline over the years. The sparse hair on my head was wispy and covered nothing at all, which forced me to wear a hat to protect my old head in the sun. I scooped cold water from the old cracked wash basin, and splashed it on my face.
I cleaned up a bit, and walked awkwardly over to the rack with my clothes on it, laying out the old silk shirt, and tailor made suit which I’d worn to my fourth son’s wedding. It fit well enough for an old codger like me. I buttoned it up, and grabbed my old top hat, popping it slowly open. I placed it to the side, and went about the arduous process of putting on my shoes. I realized the sole had worn through in my right shoe, and laughed dryly to myself. Even as a retired cobbler, I couldn’t keep my shoes in good shape.
I grabbed my cane, which helped me keep pace with the younger people of this big town, and began to walk to where I intended to end my days. The old town's Saloon run by Logan O’Malley. Nicest Irish fellow you ever met. Gave a discount to the older patrons, and always kept your whistle wet without having to be asked twice. As soon as your mug went dry, he’d send one of his beautiful barmaids to exchange it for a full one. As long as you had money that is. But his prices were reasonable, so it was a great way to slowly enjoy the last funds of this dying old man.
I walked out my door, and down the stairs. I grunted as I saw my son, just putting the shop together for business. When I had been his age, my shop was open by sunrise. Lazy slout of a son. So, I walked right past him in his groggy fog which he always had in the morning, and stepped through the double doors at the front of the store, and walked into the brightly lit road. The byway had little traffic at this time of morning. Very few people actually bothered to be up around now. People are getting lazier and lazier these days.
So, I slowly hobble over to the old Saloon, trying to keep out of the way of farmers, the only good working folk around these parts anymore. They come every morning to prepare for market. Normally I’d go, and haggle for my son and myself, but I think my son needed to do his own work once in a while, the ungrateful bastard.
I stopped carefully in front of the good old saloon. It had been my haven through the worst times of my life. And now it would be the place I’d spend my last days, away from ungrateful children, memories of a wife long dead, and the burning ache and pains of an old man’s body. As I walked in O’Malley greeted me, inquiring as to the occasion for the type of dress I was wearing.
“O’Malley, ‘m down t’ m’ last dollar so t’ speak. So, figured t’ spend some tim’ drinkin’ away m’ sorrows in ya lovely bar.”
“Well old friend, feel free to stay for a while, and I won’t but give ya a bit of a discount, cause your such an ol’ codger and all,” with this O’Malley winked at me, giving me the impression he would let me enjoy my last portion of money as long as I could.
I kindly thanked him, and proceeded to the bar stool farthest from the door, so as to keep from having the wind blow against my frail body every time the doors opened, not that the prevented the wind much anyway. Then I proceeded to happily drink the day away.
Wasn’t paying attention to much, too drunk to think of anything much. Next thing I knew I heard some shouting down the bar from me. Big feller, probably one of the blacksmiths of this town, shouting at a man about a foot shorter than him in slightly dusty white clothes. Could only see the back of the man, so I felt bad for him…he was probably just another old man wanting to wet his tired whistle. So I kept watching, too drunk to do otherwise. Suddenly as night turns to day it seemed the man’s clothing became shot through with black. Then I blinked and it was a black haired man standing before me. Damn craziest thing I’ve ever seen. Then I the next thing I know I see him turn one hand towards me.
I could have sworn, he moved faster than anything I’d ever not seen before, like lightning. By the time I realized what was in his hand, I felt like I was falling down a well. And then everything went dark, and the pain went away.
This story is in six parts. Each has its own perspective; the point of view which it is told is different. The first point of view is from a retired cobbler at the bar. The second is one of five poker players at a table playing Texas Hold’em. Another is a man across from the second man who is a member of an outlaw party trying to keep low in the town for a few days while they wait for their boss to get back from Tennessee, where he is attempting to tie up some loose ends. The fourth man is the man who initiates the events of this tale, a drunk, who is one of the town’s two blacksmiths…the less prosperous of the two, who is drinking himself under because his wife just died in childbirth. The second to last one is of the bartender himself, tending his usual routine when this story begins. The last soul we encounter is that of a man split in two. On one side of his life a never ending quest for redemption, and vengeance. On the other side of the coin, he is a ruthless and vicious man. You’ll see as the story plays out what I mean. Meanwhile, sit back, as I repeat to you the story of the Scarred Gunman.[/FONT]
An Old Man’s Last Days
Retirement wasn’t at all what I had pictured five years ago when I passed my business onto my second son to keep up the family business. Meanwhile I moved to the upstairs apartment, and relaxed to live in supposed comfort. Life seems to turn upside down on you when you least expect it. Here I was, enjoying my life, when suddenly I’m down to my last few dollars, and with no income. And so, I did what any self-respecting man would do in my situation. I went to the Saloon, and sat down here, to slowly drink my troubles away with the last tiny bits of money I had.When I got up the morning after my decision, it was a bright, day. My eyes were pierced by the light, which so vividly broke the rhythm of my sleep. I felt the old aches of sleeping in a lumpy bed, as well as ancient aches and pain that only come with age. I propped myself up slowly, my muscles protesting the movements every inch of the way. Aching and sore, I rose, and walked over to the wash bin, and looked at my reflection in the dirt covered mirror. I was old, nearly 60, wrinkles lined my weathered face, and old scars had receded much like my hairline over the years. The sparse hair on my head was wispy and covered nothing at all, which forced me to wear a hat to protect my old head in the sun. I scooped cold water from the old cracked wash basin, and splashed it on my face.
I cleaned up a bit, and walked awkwardly over to the rack with my clothes on it, laying out the old silk shirt, and tailor made suit which I’d worn to my fourth son’s wedding. It fit well enough for an old codger like me. I buttoned it up, and grabbed my old top hat, popping it slowly open. I placed it to the side, and went about the arduous process of putting on my shoes. I realized the sole had worn through in my right shoe, and laughed dryly to myself. Even as a retired cobbler, I couldn’t keep my shoes in good shape.
I grabbed my cane, which helped me keep pace with the younger people of this big town, and began to walk to where I intended to end my days. The old town's Saloon run by Logan O’Malley. Nicest Irish fellow you ever met. Gave a discount to the older patrons, and always kept your whistle wet without having to be asked twice. As soon as your mug went dry, he’d send one of his beautiful barmaids to exchange it for a full one. As long as you had money that is. But his prices were reasonable, so it was a great way to slowly enjoy the last funds of this dying old man.
I walked out my door, and down the stairs. I grunted as I saw my son, just putting the shop together for business. When I had been his age, my shop was open by sunrise. Lazy slout of a son. So, I walked right past him in his groggy fog which he always had in the morning, and stepped through the double doors at the front of the store, and walked into the brightly lit road. The byway had little traffic at this time of morning. Very few people actually bothered to be up around now. People are getting lazier and lazier these days.
So, I slowly hobble over to the old Saloon, trying to keep out of the way of farmers, the only good working folk around these parts anymore. They come every morning to prepare for market. Normally I’d go, and haggle for my son and myself, but I think my son needed to do his own work once in a while, the ungrateful bastard.
I stopped carefully in front of the good old saloon. It had been my haven through the worst times of my life. And now it would be the place I’d spend my last days, away from ungrateful children, memories of a wife long dead, and the burning ache and pains of an old man’s body. As I walked in O’Malley greeted me, inquiring as to the occasion for the type of dress I was wearing.
“O’Malley, ‘m down t’ m’ last dollar so t’ speak. So, figured t’ spend some tim’ drinkin’ away m’ sorrows in ya lovely bar.”
“Well old friend, feel free to stay for a while, and I won’t but give ya a bit of a discount, cause your such an ol’ codger and all,” with this O’Malley winked at me, giving me the impression he would let me enjoy my last portion of money as long as I could.
I kindly thanked him, and proceeded to the bar stool farthest from the door, so as to keep from having the wind blow against my frail body every time the doors opened, not that the prevented the wind much anyway. Then I proceeded to happily drink the day away.
Wasn’t paying attention to much, too drunk to think of anything much. Next thing I knew I heard some shouting down the bar from me. Big feller, probably one of the blacksmiths of this town, shouting at a man about a foot shorter than him in slightly dusty white clothes. Could only see the back of the man, so I felt bad for him…he was probably just another old man wanting to wet his tired whistle. So I kept watching, too drunk to do otherwise. Suddenly as night turns to day it seemed the man’s clothing became shot through with black. Then I blinked and it was a black haired man standing before me. Damn craziest thing I’ve ever seen. Then I the next thing I know I see him turn one hand towards me.
I could have sworn, he moved faster than anything I’d ever not seen before, like lightning. By the time I realized what was in his hand, I felt like I was falling down a well. And then everything went dark, and the pain went away.
