The Legend of Billy's Boulder

<Author's Note: There will be notes from the Author.>

In the 1880s, American men flocked to the wild west town of Bisbee, Arizona, seeking fortune by working in the newly opened copper mines.

In May of 1888, it was a mile or so outside of Bisbee, in the rugged hills of the Sonoran Desert that a stupid man had just finished burying his poor brother.

"Look," said Willy Bumbly, "I am sorry about one thing, Billy. But let's be honest...

"It wasn't my fault that ya ended up dead."

<✧ It was totally Willy's fault. ✧>

"And it could'a been worse."

<It couldn't possibly have been any worse.>

“Remember. Leaving Indiana to come west—that wasn’t my idea.”

<But it was your fault.>

“Sure, I was the one who tricked the reverend’s daughters into fucking us. But you certainly weren’t against that idea! Them girls got the titties!"

<True.>

“And nobody can resist the Bumbly brothers!”

<Actually, everyone can resist the Bumbly brothers. The reverend’s daughters were psychos.>

“And yeah, sure, when I got drunk, I told a bunch of people what we did, but it’s not like I get drunk that often.”

<You'd get drunk every day of the week if you could. Twice on Sunday.>

“So then, ya know, all those ‘righteous’ assholes told the Reverend and dang! Who would have guessed he'd be so upset!”

<Anyone could have guessed that if they understood the stresses of a single parent trying to raise three psychotic daughters on his own.>

“So you really can’t blame me for bragging about us screwing those saucy vixens.”

<Billy can’t blame anyone for anything. He’s dead.>

“It was a good idea anyway to go look for greener pasture.”

<Yes, it was. Otherwise, you both would have suffered the wrath of a vengeful Baptist preacher and his entire congregation.>

“So, then, ya know, on our way west, we stopped in that one town and went to that one saloon. And you started playing poker and getting soused. Me, well—you know how charming I am! The fellas at the bar took a real liking to me! So I asked ‘em where we could get some pussy and they recommended the best brothel in town!”

<You are not charming. The guys in the saloon hated you on sight. They recommended the worse whorehouse in town because they knew the harlots who worked there were skanks.>

"Ya gotta admit: those gals had some titties too!"

<True.>

“Things were going great until my whore called me by your name. You know how sensitive I am about that, Billy. It’s bad enough dad had’da go and name us both William. But dang it, I deserve my own identity!!! So, it was totally instinctive when I shot her in the head! I couldn’t stop myself!”

<You definitely could have stopped yourself if you hadn’t been shit-face drunk and weren’t so overly sensitive about your nickname.>

“And it was your idea we climb out that window and skedaddle.”

<Once again, yes, it Billy’s idea to flee. A woman was murdered by you; the town Marshall was on the way the way to arrest you; the owners of the cathouse were heavily armed; and Billy knew the townsfolk were bored, having not hanged anyone in weeks.>

“Neither of us could have ever guessed that gal you slept with had the French pox! Did she tell you she was from France?!?”

<The “French disease” (morbus gallicus) was the common slang for syphilis.>

“I’m still not totally convinced that it was her that got ya sick.”

<It was definitely her.>

“It might have been those tacos we bought from them dang Mexicans we ran into.”

<That’s discriminatory and wrong.>

“When I heard the bells on that taco wagon, I swear—it was like I was hypnotized.”

<True.>

“So, yeah. It was the tacos that caused all those sores on your genitals, and then the swelling, and, you know, the rashes, and then the lesions on all your moist parts."

<Syphillis does that to a man.>

“Then there was the fever and the headaches and the muscle cramps. I’ll say one thing about you, Billy: you’re a survivor!”

<To his own detriment, Billy was indeed resilient.>

“I suppose the worst part was when your scalp and eyebrows fell out. That was creepy."

<True.>

“But you lived to tell the tale, right?”

<Barely.>

“So that’s the bright side, bro!”

<There was never a bright side having you as kin.>

“And ya gotta understand, Billy…”

<Billy can’t understand anything. He’s dead.>

"I had overheard some dudes talking about going off to Bisbee to work on a cure. I thought whatever they were talking about might cure you! That's why I kept going!”

<The "cure" had about as much of a chance to cure Billy's syphilis as if you'd fed him shit.>

<✧:**:✧Wait for the reveal.✧:**:✧>

“It was the damn roadrunners that fucked everything up! It’s always roadrunners!!! You know how much them scare me!”

<There is no specific term for a fear of roadrunners, so I’ll just say you suffer from a weird hybrid of ornithophobia.>

Willy held himself and shivered. “Let’s face it though…”

<Billy can’t face anything. He’s dead.>

“If the roadrunners hadn’t scared me and I made that one wrong turn into Injun country, you never would have been saved by the fairies.”

<Fairies aren’t real. By this point in the story, nothing could save Billy.>

“We were so parched! And there weren't no water anywhere to be found. And then..! Then I found that magic elixir brought by the fairies!”

<Only Willy thought there were fairies involved. Even with a mind addled from syphilis, Billy knew there was something terribly, terribly wrong.>

“You remember, right?”

<Billy can't remember anything. He's dead.>

"We went to sleep that one night. And when we woke up, our guns were gone! The fairies took 'em and left us enchanted water! Seemed like a fair exchange to me! It made sense!"

<It was Indians, not fucking fairies. And nothing you generally say makes sense.>

“And then... then I realized you needed that water worse than me. But it must have tasted something awful because you didn't seem to want to drink it. But I got ya to do it! Good ole me! Then I just forged ahead, looking for water for myself. It was nobel what I did for you!”

<Noble, maybe, but also imbecilic. Fairies aren't real. And young Indians love playing practical jokes, just like all boys.>

“It was a miracle how things worked out! It was only a day later that I discovered that running creek!”

<God rewards idiots. Apparently.>

“I thought you were getting a little bit better after getting you even more water... but then ya got the slow fever! I swear, Billy, it’s always something with you!"

<“Slow fever” was what people called the symptoms of dysentery, which Billy contracted from the contaminated water given to you by mischievous native American teenagers.>

“I wondered again if it was those bad tacos you ate back before!”

<Syphilis and dysentery are completely different diseases, neither caused by tacos.>

“So then we got to Bisbee—finally— and you had almost recovered by then. Kinda. And while, ya know, you were sleeping all the time and having your danged hallucinations, I went to meet the locals. They all took a real fast liking to me.”

<No, they didn’t.>

“And ya know, bro, that’s when I found out the dangest thing. That ‘cure’ we came for all the way ‘cross the country for? It wasn’t a ‘cure’ after all! They said ‘pure’! People really should learn to enunciate better.”

<You should really learn to eavesdrop better.>

“Well, I got lucky at a casino and made enough money to keep us afloat while you finally got over the slow fever. But I knew we'd need a job eventually. So I got us hired collecting pure. I thought that meant pure gold or pure silver or something precious! You thought so too!”

<By this point, all Billy could ever coherently think about was dying to be put out of his misery. >

“I never thought working for a tanner would be so vile!”

<You never thought at all. Period.>

“Did you know that’s how tanning worked? Did you know they used dog shit to tan leather? I never dreamed someone would pay us to collect dog shit! Did you know that we were going to get paid for picking up dog shit?!? Whoever heard'a such a thing!?!”

< Anyone who knows a little history. People had been collecting dog feces since Victorian times. Canine crap contained a high concentrate of enzymes and ammonia which breaks down collagen in hides, softening the leather to make it more pliable.>

“It certainly wasn’t my preference that we scoop dog poop for a living, but I tried to get a job in the copper mines, and they didn’t have any openings available.”

<There were always jobs available in the mines. The foreman of the mine took an instant disliking of you because you’re a jackass.>

“And the same thing happened at the brewery. No jobs to be had!”

<There was. But they thought you were a bonehead too.>

“No other places were hiring! Collecting pure was the best we could do.”

<Plenty of other places were hiring. They just weren’t hiring you.>

“I think you’ll agree that the worst part was differentiating which was the dog shit, instead horse shit and the donkey shit and the mule shit and the weasel shit and all the usual shit in the streets.”

<It was filthy place to live, for real. But Billy can’t agree with anything. He’s dead.>

“At least, ya know, bro… we learned that if we got too drunk and accidentally shit in our saddles," Willy snickered, "that'll just give 'em a nice shine! That’s how it works, right?”

<No.>

“Then we got drunk that night and fucked those whores on opium. Dang, did them gals have some titties!!!"

<True.>

"Did we take opium too? I don’t think we did.”

<You did.>

“And I’m pretty certain it was you who came up with the idea of getting a bunch of our own dogs so we could just manufacture our own dog shit.”

<No. That was your dim-witted idea. By this point, Billy had no reason whatsoever to trust you, but the opium obliterated the tiny bit left of his mind.>

“So, ya know, we tried to start our own business, but the stray dogs we tried to catch, they just didn’t like me! I couldn't figure it out! Just hard ta imagine!!!"

<Actually, it would be easy to imagine if you had any self-awareness.>

"I know it sure bothered you—all that barking and growling. Dogs can be so vicious, even when all a fella is trying t'do is give 'em a good place to shit!”

<Dogs can smell stupid even on a street filled with horse crap and donkey dung.>

"So that’s when I had the brilliant idea of using coyOtes instead of dogs! They're basically the same as dogs."

<Wrong.>

"So I figured we could catch a dozen or so coyotes, corral 'em, and sell their shit. Big profit; minimal work. No more walking the streets every day hoping to find the right kind of shit!"

<Shit for brains.>

“And we could feed the coyotes chickens!"

<Egghead.>

"So, you know, that's when we headed out to the coyote territory that my friends told me about."

<You have no friends. People were hoping you'd be eaten alive.>

“And ya know what a lucky break that was!”

<Not lucky for Billy. He was cursed the day you were born.>

“We saw all them mountain goats that day! And it seemed like God or the fairies were on our side again! It was the perfect solution! If we killed a bunch of mountain goats all at once, that would draw in the coyotes, then we’d wait until their bellies were stuffed and they were really sleepy—then we’d round ‘em up, bring them back to our corral, feed them chickens, wait til they poop, then sell their shit to the tanner so we could get rich and live the good life!”

<Not only was the whole scheme dumb and dangerous, it wasn't economically feasible. You didn’t factor in the cost of chickens.>

“But, ya know—the only problem with my brilliant plan was killing a bunch of mountain goats all at once, because, ya know, we figured the goats would scatter after a couple shots. And let's face it, Billy. You ain’t the best shot these days.”

<Not since the typhoid, and the syphilis, and the opium addiction—no. All that affects a man’s aim, as well as their judgement and free will.>

“So…. that’s how dynamite became a crucial part of our plan."

<Your plan. As soon as he heard the word "dynamite" Billy was resigned to the inevitable.>

"Seemed like the perfect solution really. And sure, it wasn’t exactly easy to steal from the general store, but it was easier than stealing dynamite from the mining office! You know I’m right about that!”

<He doesn’t know anything anymore. He’s dead.>

“So we fucked the store manager's daughters, then flung horse shit at 'em to scare 'em away, and we absconded with just that single stick of dynamite. It wasn’t like we robbed a stagecoach or did anything serious!”

<Tell that to the gals you fucked who contracted syphilis from Billy.>

“Everything was going according to plan!”

<There never was a viable plan. You were flying by the seat of your shit-stained pants.>

“Sure, the guys from the general store were likely to be a little pissed we took their dynamite, but we’d make so much money in the coyote-shit business, we’d easily be able to pay ‘em back!”

<They were more than pissed off. They formed a posse and went after you both and were only deterred by the explosion. Otherwise, you would have been hanged.>

“When we climbed up the hill—to that ledge beneath all the mountain goats—I really didn’t realize we were that far up!”

<They’re called mountain goats for a reason.>

“And then, ya know… it all just kinda went to hell!!! Not my fault!! You know how I am about roadrunners!!!”

<Such a bizarre phobia. It suits you.>

"I had just lit the fuse and then I saw the roadrunner behind ya! And I PANICKED!!!! I screeeamed for you to duck and I threw the dynamite at the roadrunner! And you jumped out of the way and the dynamite hit way back behind ya, near the edge of the cliff! And it went off with that really loud explosion!! Dang, that was startling!!"

<Even more so for Billy.>

"At first it seemed like everything was okay. But then the ground just sort of crumbled beneath you. And it just slid away. And you slid with it. And I don't know, you fell, like, fifteen feet or something?"

<Twenty-seven.>

"And you landed right in that bed of cactuses!"

<Meanwhile, the roadrunner escaped unscathed.>

(●ˇ∀ˇ●) Meep! (●ˇ∀ˇ●) Meep!

"I ran over and looked down, and it looked like you were alright. Kinda. You weren't screaming or nothing. Didn't seem like you were in any pain."

<He was in excruciating pain. People can't fall twenty-seven feet and land on cacti without suffering excruciating pain.>

"And did you even see what happened next?!?!"

<He was barely conscious, but he saw. And he welcomed it.>

"That one big boulder just broke free from the mountain and fell so quick! It was startling!!"

<It weighed roughly a ton. Rocks that heavy always fall fast. It's called "gravity".>

"And it landed right on top of you and squished you flat!!!"

<'Pulverized' would be a more accurate description.>

"It was the dangest thing I ever did see! All that was sticking out from under that boulder was yer one arm! Did you see that boulder coming at ya? Were you waving goodbye to me at the end?"

<No, he was flipping you off.>

<And he can't answer any of your questions! He's dead!!! >

"So I buried all that was left of ya. Danged sweet of me, really, considering how gross it was. And now I think I’m headed to Tombstone. I hear the gals there have really big titties. My pals in Bisbee will miss me, but they'll get over it."

<You have no pals. If you'd went back to Bisbee, a mob would have torn you apart.>

< But leaving for Tombstone is the closest you'll ever get to a character arc.>

<So go.>

"I know you wouldn't begrudge me for moving on."

<Your brother’s ghost will haunt you for the rest of your misbegotten life.>

"But Billy: I am truly sorry about what I went and did.”

Willy stabbed the wooden cross into the loose dirt at the head of Billy’s arm's grave.

“I was drunk when I made this grave marker." Willy hung his head in shame. "I misspelled your name... I mean, our last name. Daaang, I hate when I do that!" He sighed. "But it ain't like you give a fuck, right?

"You're dead.”

Willy tipped his hat, said goodbye to his brother's buried arm, and rode off into the sunset.

~↯~

_________________Bolt⚡