The Book of Stone

THE BOOK OF STONE

https://youtu.be/HjDR5NX6Pdw

(I do not have rights to the song. But I wrote to it and it fits very well.)

The wind carried dust.

That dust attempted to be clouds but the clouds looked down on it. So, the dust just swirled around below, amongst men. Dust.

The lofty clouds busied themselves trying to block out the sun.

Shadow and light as they tried.

Shadow and light.

It was a goddamn beautiful thing.

Elijah looked at his brother’s bright eyes. The flesh around those pearls, streaked with remnants of the long road. The sweat and smell of five days run hard on horses.

Logan returned the inspection of his older brother, almost embarrassed. He continued to load the cylinder. A small bead slid from his brow and across his dirty, red dust face until it hit his cheek which was spread wide in a wild grin.

The street outside was getting busy, filling fast with angry men and lots of metal. All the while, hopeful shots pounded on the walls and the doors of the tavern asking the Stone brothers to step on out.

“White Treasure!” Was the scream into the midday air from the growing mob rallying at the steps of the Swan Inn & Card House.

Ginger grabbed two rifles and his look at the brothers was a thing of poetry.

One last verse to write.

He is a sharpshooter.

Elijah watched closely as Ginger took the first few stairs up. His voice pierced the steady sound of shells beating their heads into the walls of the Swan.

“Hey, Ginger,” who was walking determined, paused, and looked over his shoulder.

“Jack.” It hung like a fact in the air.

Elijah smiled, acknowledging his refusal to use his God given name. “Keep safe Charles.”

Ginger nodded and took the most awful twelve steps of his life.

Downstairs, the brothers quickly exchanged an awkward hug as the glass of the windows blew apart. Logan wiped the tear that ran against his will.

They stole the moment. And Time, well, he just took a minute to admire the sky. See the Stone Brothers were gifted with the awful ability to end men and their stories.

Logan was the first up but quickly followed by brother. Between them twenty-four shots rang out and seventeen men went to meet judgement.

Ginger just hit the third floor when the beginning of the end started downstairs. He was on the roof of the Swan and witnessed the sand of the Stones below his bird’s eye.

Men fell like knocked over chess pieces.

Ginger played his queen and added to the count while his Winchester hummed hotly.

There were once many and then, there were not.

It’s an odd thing in the jaws of a moment how you notice the minutiae.

The dust swirling around the door of the store across the street.

The awkward way that man you never knew, slumped forward when your shot rang true.

The clouds and their struggle with the sun.

The guilt that hangs over your back like a buzzard waiting for a chance.