My Western Cowboy Story

She opened her mouth to release a sharp cry, as he held her back - a prisoner in his iron arms. He satisfactorily pulled out the gun, looking around at the rough outline of the west he knew so well: the dry dirt, the rocky mountains, and the blazing sun. Too bad even the birds didn't dare sing farewell to the end of this damsel in distress in his presence. He smirked with his crooked smile, and raised a bushy eyebrow. It wasn't as if he had anything against her exactly. It was just that he held hate in his heart, and he loved to kill. Better yet, to kill someone who loved. Who could - no, who would - lose something valuable in death, unlike himself.

She wasn't prepared for this, although she thought she had been. She'd remembered the countless defense movements taught to protect herself from crazy men - practiced them even. Yet she had forgotten a man's brutal strength, not shown to her from the many gentlemen she knew. She threw herself from him again, only to be pulled back, and this time the hard cold barrel of the gun sank through her golden curls to her dainty head. Even if he didn't shoot, she knew the hard imprint must be left in her skin. His laugh sent tingles up her spine and she prayed for another moment. Screamed for another moment. The gun's patience was tried, then released. The sound of a rocket pierced the air in half. The sound of death.

Yet, her round blue eyes opened with astonishment as the man with the iron grasp tumbled to the ground in her stead. Behind him, the man she loved, her rescuer, stood placing his used gun back inside its cage. His soft worried eyes flew to her, almost as quickly as his feet. He bent his head gently down as he used his fingers to wipe away her tears of desperation, until he stiffened coldly with the realization that the hateful man had stirred. He spoke his dying words, the words most important to a man.

"You'll never understand, but that's why I'm telling you." He gasped out, while holding his side.

"You're crazy, man, to try and hurt her! To be killin' the way you do in this town. Just tell me why? WHY? Why you got to be hurtin' men who you have no problems with." He raged out, in protection of her.

“When I was young -" It seemed he was being dramatic.

"SHUT IT! Get to the point."

"It's the point all right - it all starts when you're young . . . everything. Hate, being locked up, being cheated when you finally love someone. That's what hurts the most, trying so hard to please everyone - anyone, but some people have it all handed to them . . .and some people don't. Who decides who lives what life? Who has the luck, and who loses it all? . . . It all starts young." He continued, his breath slower. "It's like . . . like a boat that's sinking, and no one notices until it crashes. It's like a bird . . . that's falling, but it doesn't matter until it starts flying into the other birds. It's dying but not . . . caring because you're not losing anything." His was whispering by the end of his long rant.


The man who had shot persisted, while keeping her safely behind him, “And you take it out on someone you don’t know? I don’t care if you have had so much pain that you’re numb to it. I don’t care what you’ve been given. What matters is what you do with what you receive in life. Maybe the world can be cruel, but then defy it with your being – don’t join it.”

She suddenly hooked her arm with her rescuer. "Some people have roses with thorns, and others have thorns with roses. But it isn’t exactly like fate has been chosen for you - it’s also the fate you have chosen.”

Death silently closed the iron man’s eyes.

And maybe you don't get it - but that's why I'm telling you.