The Old West Is Dying, And So Did She
The villain origin story of a young man within the Wild West, one who would soon become a well known Outlaw that was dragged on by his anger.
A greyed frock coat clad down with a dark vest was what kept comfort to the locket that sat in the left inner pocket of a twenty-two-year-old’s trousers. He had been sat long enough in the leather red seat of a saloon that was closing down for the night to know he had no risk of robbery any longer. As the balding man behind the counter began to drone on about the randoms that often came once and never again to his bar stools, the younger took it to himself to gaze upon the locket once more. It was as if the scheduled times to do it, a growing obsession that didn’t have any luck of halting.
The picture was of a young woman. She had long brunette hair that imitated the soft chestnut bark that was lined with each tree that lingered in the forest. She wore a long dress that was accompanied by a darker shaded flounce, a color that he remembered being the courtesy of the sky. Though, the picture offered nothing of her face. The picture was taken from her behind as if she wasn’t even aware a photo of her was being taken. He could not remember the last time he didn’t have this picture with him; as if it were separated from him, he wouldn’t be able to get by.
“Is she yours?” The man behind the counter vocalized, as he pulled his sleeves up to his elbows, and walked closer towards the man in question. His daunting green eyes circulated around the stature of the man; the way he sat in the stool, so focused upon what was visibly a picture of a girl.
“Yessir,” He commented quietly, his eyes lingering upon the picture before he closed the locket and returned it to its rightful place, giving his gaze the chance to focus on the man he had begun to converse with.” her name is Darlene Washington. She’s a real beauty, ain't she?” He furthered his talk upon the woman that he had formerly been keeping his gaze so focused on.
“Wasn’t a picture of her face, so I wouldn’t know.” He slid towards admittance, hues settling on the counter before him as he instead decided to focus upon cleaning it, though the demeanor of what was once a calm situation changed in a matter of short seconds. Before he even heard the other man’s voice, he could perhaps sense it coming, his fingers tensing around the wettened rag between them.
“So, yer saying she ain’t beautiful? Wanna take that back? Before sumthin happens to ya?” The lone man threatened, his eyes faltering from his crossed arms against his chest, to the man. “Ya might wanna think twice before sayin’ sumthin like that ‘gain,” He continued, deciding to stand, the sound of heavy metal slapping slightly against the chair as his feet hit the wooden planks beneath them. Easily revealing that it was a revolver that so comfortably accompanied his upper thigh.
“No, no-- just saying there wasn’t enough to-- you know-- you know, nevermind. Course, she’s beautiful. Sorry.” The tender decided to avoid a conflict, one he otherwise would have confronted, due to the fact he was around closing, and he didn’t have any time to waste when it came to getting involved in things that would keep him away from sleeping any longer.
“Thas’ right. Expect me not to come back ‘ere. Your ‘mount of customers is ‘boutta go down reeeaall low, siree.” The man confidently discoursed a significantly disrupted facial distortion that expressed his disheveled emotion, something that purely contorted his former smile to what was worsened as such, something that was so disturbed by something that was initially taken out of context.
“Okay, sir.” The man remained behind his counter, offering the other a friendly wave; though he could tell that he hadn’t seen it anyway, due to the fact his back had been turned in the timing he placed to lift his hand. “Goodnight.” He softly tuned, as the doors shut behind the man with the grey coat.
It opened to what was once a bustling road, feet prints finally fading from the dirt as passerby carriages covered them, the dark eyes of trotting horses being reflective to each lingering star that glistened within the sky. A discomforted horse that found itself hitched outside the saloon became restless as the man approached her, giving off a soft whinny, a stomp to her movement-- until he was sat upon her saddle, and gave her the freedom of movement. Suddenly, that dirt became one with the quick-paced movement of the mare, riding at her sides and dirtying the bottoms of her legs. She rode into the formulated roads that separated towns, driving her rider closer and closer to the brooding moon, as he urged her to get faster in time as if he had somewhere important to go. “C’mon, Darlene, git,” He growled out, to which she so easily listened, her hooves smashing against the ground in time which was unlike her usual rides. “gotta get home.” He steered to a turn, to which she gave a protesting neigh, though she couldn’t have gotten her way even if she wished.
The man turned into an area with an overlying fence that signified the entrance, the darkness on the horizon settling as it soon returned quiet buildings to his person, a barn that was locked, a pasture that was often so packed with the black-and-white backsides of his favored farm animal, and a rumbling household that had just quieted down, its final candle being blown out to signify slumber upon his very arrival. His horse became comfortable with another post upon being hitched, and let out a lowly snort before calming. He walked up the few wooden stairs and onto the porch, the door slowly swinging open after he turned the golden knob.
He took in a whiff of the scent of the home, letting it fill his nostrils to the brim, tilting his head slightly as he looked at each door; noticing which ones were slightly open or closed completely. His breath came through his mouth as he started walking through the hallway, hovering over the closed door’s knob before twisting it so similarly, and finding himself walking through the entryway with what seemed to be a tiredly heavy hesitation. He rid himself of his overbearing, grey coat, removing his belt. He wandered to the bedside and laid within the comfort of the mattress and its sheets.
He placed his hands upon his chest for few moments, thinking. Though, in time, his arms came to wrap around the woman beside him, pulling her close to his body, very gently. He seemed to drift off into the sweetness of his own rest upon placing his head on her shoulder.
Though, only fifteen minutes of quiet seemed to pass, no time being wasted to once again stir awake the man.
A harrowing scream broke that silence, one that ruptured the sanctity of his own eardrums, though the remedy of that unsuspecting course was quickly realized as he stood, simply to view the woman standing at the other side of the bed, stanced in a way that would contend to her running. Something that his quick eye noticed immediately, and allowed him to rush to the safety of courting the door into its locked position, his body preventing her from getting through.
“Who are you?! Get out of my house!” She exclaimed, perhaps the most shrilled of screams excreting from what he would think to be her once quiet, beautiful lips. He let out persistent laughter, his body carrying himself closer towards her as he kept in front of her, ultimately preventing her from escaping him.
“Darlene, dont’cha ‘member me? Ya said ya loved me!” He responded, reaching down ever so quickly to retrieve the weapon that was once fastened inside the holster upon his belt. He held it up to his own face, as if it were part of a threat, before rolling the cylinder to show that there were definitely bullets in there.
“My name isn’t Darlene!” She shrieked, stepping back, trying to get close to her window, so she would be able to break it open and sneak out of the room-- though, it wouldn’t be much of a.. sneak. Rather a quick movement that would determine her life or death. “Get out of my house! Please!” She still tried to reach him, despite the fact she was still backing up towards the window.
The man pulled back the hammer of his revolver and waved it around, pulling back the trigger before letting it go in order to release a bullet into the ceiling; a loaded chuckle favoring the afternote of such action, his eyes falling onto her as he seemed to view the outline of her body that was given off by the reflection of the moon. “This is my house.” He commented, before the weapon was soon pointed in her direction instead of the ceiling’s, waving it only slightly back and forth; as if he were shaking.
“I don’t know you! Please! Please leave!” She screamed, though the interruption of the night was caustic to the two young boys that also lived there; and in time they braved out of their shells and rushed to the room, trying to open the door; despite it’s lock.
“Momma? Momma!” The older boy shouted to his mother, hoping to get a rectifying answer that would therefore determine whether or not she was still alive, because he hadn’t heard her voice in the time that he arrived.
The man spun around and shot three bullets through the door. The wooden material of the entrance was broken, creating evident holes that signified the fact that the bullets definitely made it through. Within seconds of the shots, a crash sounded off-- beside the newly consistent screaming of the woman, who had made a break for the window.
He turned once more and lifted the revolver. “Ma’am, you best not!” He warned, though she was already forcing herself through the sharded glass entrance that she had made through the breakage of her window; and as she was just about to feel the grass beneath her feet; she was met with a bullet through her forehead, knocking her to the ground instead. What she felt was a heated stinging at her skull, numbing, and then the allowance of darkness’ take over.
He scoffed as she watched her body fall to the ground outside her bedroom window, before wandering to his jacket. He picked it up off of the ground, wrapping it around his body as he stuck both of his arms into the sleeves. He holstered his weapon and fastened his belt through the loops, before pushing the door open. It was stuck against the pant leg of one of the boys; though without a care, he pushed it forward even rougher, before heading towards the door. He mounted his horse, and once again rode off-- into what was now the sunrise.
A new day.