#Oh man I hope I can find the inspiration for more horse illustrations like this...I kinda wanna make my own Bella Sara cards with them LMAO
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Once I saw an icelandic horse lying in the dirt and all my mind could fathom was "Unicorn...THAT'S A UNICORN RIGHT THERE" and the image didn't leave my mind for 7 years until I finally found the time to illustrate it...
This illustration will be available as a print on my next Con visit! 😊
You can also get it now on redbubble!
OR Check out my Patreon for early access and behind the scenes content for all my illutrations and more! :D
#bella sara#horses#fantasy#unicorn#icelandic horse#artists on tumblr#Oh man I hope I can find the inspiration for more horse illustrations like this...I kinda wanna make my own Bella Sara cards with them LMAO#my art#elbdot art#elbdot
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Prompt List #9 - Historical Aus/Prompts (Requested)
@viseriyen I know your focus was more 18th century France, but I never covered that during my degree, my focus was more 19th century Britain. This has a variety of historical aus/prompts, they won’t all be relevant and I can’t guarantee their historical accuracy for France, but I hope they help, give you ideas etc.
“I can’t...you know I have no control over my marriage. I can’t even divorce him...I have nothing to hold against him.” “Then give him something to divorce you for.” “And tarnish my good name?”
AU in which character a is desperately in love with character b, but can’t divorce their husband because divorce laws make it nigh on impossible for ‘wives’ to divorce their husbands without a ‘legitimate reason’.
Intense heated love letters because we have to keep our distance and can’t do anything that would jeopardise our positions or our reputations. But, I can send you lusty love letters that you hide under your pillow instead.
Illegitimate child/unwed pregnancy and the trials of being together, loving your child together but knowing they have little standing in society and the way people treat you because of that.
Fan language AU -> https://raulersongirlstravel.com/language-of-fans/#The_Language_of_the_Fan
My parents are trying to marry me off and you're the latest person they’ve brought to show me off to and I don’t want to like you, but I kind of do. You clearly don’t want to be here anymore than me.
The smallest touch is the most intense.
You went off to war and come back after a long campaign the papers have been reporting on. You have appear gruff, mean, and cold to everyone else, but are soft with me.
The typical trope of hardened, gruff character a who melts around character b.
(19th c) I’m the town’s school teacher and you’re the gruff wanderer/traveller/cowboy/outlaw/etc. That’s come to town. You help me fix the school house and wrangle the little demons I teach.
Sweetheart trinkets, like embroidered handkerchiefs, engraved jewellery, hidden message rings, carved trinkets etc. Especially a ‘here I made this for you or I had this made for you’.
Letters that were never sent. After character a’s death the letters are found and posted to or given to character b revealing the unsaid feelings.
We compete for top spot in school in spelling, mathematics, science etc. School rivals.
Character a bathing in a river, character b awkwardly stumbling upon them all apologetic or alternatively character a bathing in a river and character b protecting them from some no good ruffians.
Horse rides; for leisure, maybe character a was stranded and has to share a horse with character b, being stuck in a carriage together.
Childhood rivals who finally see each other after years of being apart, maybe because of boarding school/finishing school or otherwise. The horrible realisation that your rival is now hot and also can keep up with you in conversation.
Those gentle kisses to the top of a hand or gentle touches between gloved hands. Gentle hands!!! Gentle kisses!! All demure and totally appropriate but with hidden meaning and heat.
Childhood friends who haven’t seen each other since they were little and are now betrothed and oh my, you’re beautiful/handsome and I am not prepared for this.
We’re betrothed but have only ever communicated through letters and this is our first ever meeting and i’m petrified you aren’t going to be the person I know through letters
Perfume scented letters, secret code, love poems, and dried flowers. Sent long distances to you with love.
Contraception catalogues and the very specific packaging of sheaths (aka early condoms) as things like pill boxes, ladies power boxes, cigarettes, etc. to hide them. Do with this as you will.
I am spinster, you are a bachelor and we have a rivalry because how dare you get paid more than me and while i’m compared to a rotten egg. Alternatively, I am spinster by choice and refuse to marry, but you are making this very very hard.
Gals being pals, boys being ‘mates’, the known cases of boarding school love between same sex couples and also we’re both spinsters/bachelours and work together in our intellectual studies and we’re totally not in love...no sireee.
Oscar Wilde had a thing working class and military kink so do with that what you will, i’m sure you could make a upperclass/working class au/couple. One’s rough, resilient, hard working, and one’s dainty, far too spoiled and brattish but they both like each other somehow.
You’re gruff and rough/snappy, rude, but I can see how sweet you are to horses, animals, kids, and I know there’s a softer side beneath all of that.
It’s my first ‘season’ and you save me from all these men/women sniffing around me trying to get my attention.
Scandalous private time i.e. we’re supposed to be chaperoned but here we are in the garden on our own together or in the woods alone or in a small corner without a chaperone and what would people say.
Character a defending character b’s honour.
You’re my second in a duel/I’m your second in a duel, please don’t die
All the duels, duelling each other, duelling for the other, defending the other’s honour etc.
You look beautiful but dear god why are there so many layers!
I just spent an hour drawing you a bath bucket by bucket because I love you, but i’m a hot mess right now as a result.
You break social convention for my comfort. I.e. something like you forgo allowing people to watch our wedding night because you want me to be comfortable or you refuse to allow some other stupid tradition that you know scares/intimidates/upsets me.
Over the top professions of love.
“I would die, without an answer to my feelings. I would die here. My breath would choke in my throat, my blood run cold, and my selfish heart stop. I cannot live without answer, without knowing whether my feelings are returned or not.”
Character a being the dotting husband/wife/partner and helping character b get out of all that ridiculous clothing so they can cuddle and sleep. Who needs maids and servants when you have a life partner.
I want a partnership, a kindred spirit, a soul mate, not a servant. You want the same thing. I am awed by this. (possibly + we’re rivals, childhood enemies etc.)
Your family don’t approve of me, and mine don’t approve of you. I wish we could simply run away, but that’s a foolish dream.
Educated woman expects man to talk about her wandering womb and how education will make her insane and barren, instead finds man actually wants to hold an intellectual conversation with her and they strike up and unexpected friendship and then love.
Character a denying themselves of character b because they don’t feel good enough or because they feel it would be selfish maybe because they’re in a war or because they can’t provide what they feel character b deserves. Character b is not here for this bullshit.
We get trapped in a small cabin in a snowstorm together wild west au.
We get trapped in any small space in any time period au
I would say we should stop having children but I love each and every one of them and I love you too. Large family AU.
We’ve just lost our child in infancy, grief, hurt/comfort.
You’re in labour and i’m terrified for you. I am not allowed in the birthing chamber and the midwife would murder me if I tried.
Alternatively, I refuse to not be present for the birth of our child and don’t care what anyone says. I'm here to support you and will be physically in the room.
You’re competing for my affections but you never had to compete because you always had them.
You do not have to duel everyone for me over the smallest slight, look now you’ve gone and hurt yourself and I suppose I’ll have to give you my favourite handkerchief to deal with it.
I am pro royalist and you are pro-republic. I should hate you, you should hate me, but god if you aren’t all consuming.
You’re one of my suitors and the gifts you bring me aren’t jewels or flowers, but books, microscopes, telescopes, knowledge. I like the way you think and seem to seem me.
I am nearly trampled by someone’s horse in the street, but you step in just in time to get me out of the way even though it puts you in danger yourself
Despite the cost of sugary treats you always turn up to my parlour with some sort of sweet and I know they’re not the cheapest.
Anything involving a copper bathtub is a vibe.
I always look for your seal on my letters. Yours is the first letter I read and the one I treasure most.
I have kept every note, every little, every little thing you’ve ever written or drawn for me.
If images inspire you you might find my other blog @theillustratedmagazine helpful. It has 20th and 19th century illustrations.
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Author Spotlight: greywash
Every week we are going to be interviewing a writer from The Magicians fandom. If you would like to be interviewed or you want to nominate a writer, get in touch via our ask box.
First things first, tell us a little about yourself.
Hi, I'm greywash! I usually go by Gins, I'm 37, I'm an engineer, and I live with my beta/writing and queerplatonic life partner HBBO (havingbeenbreathedout) in the cheap(er) seats outside San Francisco.
How long have you been writing for?
I apparently "wrote" and "illustrated" a story for my mom about a dragon who forgets his best friend's birthday when I was three, so. It's been a minute. I kill fewer crayons these days.
What inspired you to start writing for The Magicians?
Well... basically, I followed @longnationalnightmare in from another fandom, and a few people on my Tumblr dash were reblogging gifsets, so I originally watched the show basically just for more context. (The threeway. By "more context," I mean "the threeway.") Anyway, it took me about 0.3 episodes to be completely hooked: I had read the books a few years back and was ambivalent about a lot of things in them, so when I started watching the show I was expecting a lot less than I got? I'd expected a sort of silly B-show with lousy acting, and, I mean... it is frequently *very* silly, but then it turned out that the cast ranges from 'very good' to 'incredible', and the interpersonal dynamics are *fantastic*, and those are both pure fannish bait for me. The show's not perfect, but they fixed a lot of my problems with the books, a lot of which lived on a character development level... I think the show really has done some incredible work with Quentin, especially; and also with depictions of complex, liminally-sexual queer friendships, like the relationship between Margo and Eliot, which I feel like I've never encountered represented this well in any other visual media source, ever.
Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? What it is about them that makes them your favourite?
Ooh, that's hard. Eliot is just my hands-down full-stop favorite character, but there's always that tricky question of "who is your favorite character to write *in the point of view of*" versus "who is your favorite character to write *about*," especially when you have a relationship or relationships you're really invested in (for me, the asymmetrical Quentin/Eliot/Margo triad). When I want to write stories that are love letters to Eliot Waugh, which is often, then I want to write from Quentin or Margo's point of view, because when I write Eliot's point of view, I am inevitably writing love letters to one or the both of them.
Do you have a preference for a particular season/point in time to write about?
Well, since I came into the fandom during the post-S3 hiatus—I started watching the show in October—just by default that's where most of my work is grounded, so far.
Are you working on anything right now? Care to give us an idea about it?
Oh boy, I sure am! I have a lot of work to do on my 39 Graves fic, and then I still have, hm, probably another... twenty or thirty thousand words, ish? On "The Marriage Plot," which is the sequel (...sort of) to "Firebird" and also my sort of... emotional raison d'fanfic, for The Magicians. It's sort of a, uhh... well, let's call it an un-arranged-marriage fic, is the best way I can think of to put it.
How long is your “to do list”?
Oh gosh. It's atrocious, but it's also not all for /The Magicians/. There's "The Marriage Plot," but I also have a long-running /Sherlock/ WIP that got toootally hijacked by me suddenly desperately needing to write hundreds of thousands of words about Eliot and Quentin not getting married, and so I'm just getting back into that; and then I have 39 Graves. I also still owe my partner a /Sneaky Pete/ storylet and have two other outstanding prompts from the summer, one for /Lewis/ and the other for... I.... totally don't remember! /The Good Place/, I think? I saved it around here somewhere. On top of that, I'm doing fan_flashworks bingo over on Dreamwidth, and I don't want my entire bingo card to be "The Magicians," though so far that's been somewhat difficult to resist. And I love the weekly prompt idea that the Rec Center and the Neitherlands Library are running for S4! I had a blast writing for the "Identity" prompt and am looking forward to this week's as well. Well, at least I write fast.
What is your favourite fic that you’ve written for The Magicians? Why?
I think I have to say "Firebird," because I haven't finished "The Marriage Plot," and who knows how that'll go; but they're so inextricably linked in my mind it's hard for me to think of "Firebird" as like—its own separate thing? I guess I can say that "Firebird" was really uncomfortable in places to write, so I'm proud of myself for getting it done without flinching away from all the, like, body horror and murder and super dubious consent; and I think it does what I want it to do. We'll see how I feel when I finish "The Marriage Plot."
Many writers have a fic that they are passionate about that doesn’t get the reception from the fandom that they hoped for. Do you have a fic you would like more people to read and appreciate?
Well, I definitely haven't been here long enough or written enough stuff to have that feeling, but—let's say "The Get Down," which is just a little bonbon about Margo and Eliot being best friends and banging a psychic. I love themmmmm~ ~ ~
What is your writing process like? Do you have any traditions or superstitions that you like to stick to when you’re writing?
I'm not particularly superstitious about writing, but I am hugely invested in my writing routine—I'm a write-every-day person, and I do mean 'every day'; I'm on a 2,179 day streak on 750words.com—that's a little shy of six years. People are usually horrified when I admit this, but: I get up at 5:15 in the morning seven days a week so that I can put on headphones and write for at least an hour and often more like two before work, or whatever it is that I'm doing that day. (I also go to bed at like.... eight forty-five. I am a party animal.) I also very frequently write on my lunch breaks and have the excellent fortune to live with my writing partner, so we spend loads of time writing on the weekends and talking about fiction. This is literally the life of my dreams, but you have to be a very specific kind of obsessive weirdo to feel that way, I think.
Do you write while the seasons are airing or do you prefer to wait for hiatus? How does the ongoing development of the canon influence and inspire your writing process?
I am too much of an egg in this fandom to have an answer to this one yet, I think. :) I probably wouldn't start a longfic during the season, but shortfic, sure, why not?
What has been the most challenging fic for you to write?
"Firebird," because of all the aforementioned body horror and murder and super dubious consent. I am a delicate flower, who happens to be fascinated with narrative about people confronting their personal monstrousness. It's a tough row to hoe, man.
Are there any themes or tropes that you like particularly like to explore in your writing?
For /The Magicians/, the particular dead horse that I love to flog is Fillorian marriage, and the implications that forced fidelity have for consent; and also just for how intimacy *works*, within a marriage or a long-term relationship where that sense of choice, of choosing and being chosen, is so much of what lends richness to the relationship.
Are there any writers that inspire your work? Fanfiction or otherwise?
Nonfannishly: Georgette Heyer, Sarah Waters, Herman Melville, Miranda July. Fannishly.... whoo boy. In /The Magicians/, I'm still catching up on all the great stuff that people have written! @longnationalnightmare , @adjovi , @achray , @shmazarov, @numinousnumbat , and @ohmarqueliot are some of my favorites so far... in other fandoms: gosh, where to even start, I've been in fandom for 20+ years, we could be here a while. I guess since we're on the subject (sort of) of the monstrous, I reread @1001cranes ' "disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage" the other day and was just as floored by it now as I was... gosh, was that really seven years ago? Well, it's evergreen, go read it again. @septembriseur for fiction about altered consciousness. @drawsaurus for the interplay between warmth and brittleness and humor and darkness. @helenish for her endings. @havingbeenbreathedout for the interplay between sex and story, and basically everything else as well.
What are you currently reading? Fanfiction or otherwise?
Right now, I have open on my laptop: (1) @astolat 's "And I Alone Have Escaped to Tell You [which I've read before], (2) @ohmarqueliot 's "Reaching in the Dark" [which I haven't started], and (3) what is, in context, the most ironic thing *ever*: a handbook on strategies for managing ADHD. What? Don't judge me.
What is the most valuable piece of writing advice you’ve ever been given?
Basically that learning to write is just figuring out how to ask yourself "What are you trying to do with this _______?" (comma, word, line, paragraph, chapter, story), and then figuring out how to answer. (Thanks, Dad!)
Are there any words or phrases you worry about over using in your work?
Oh, I mean—I'm pretty okay with even the totally predictable bits of my narrative voice, I don't stress about it too hard anymore, but yes, there are a bunch of words I *know* I overuse. Especially since I'm a little bit blind to repeated words if I'm reading and not listening to my work read aloud, which—I try to do at least one pass where I get my computer to read to me when I'm editing, but I need to have both time and focus to make that work, both of which, I find, are often in short supply. "Tells"—he tells her, she told him—is *the worst*; I'm always looking for it my brain just skips over completely, it's like it's not even a word for me anymore.
What was the first fanfic that you wrote? Do you still have access to it?
Oh dear. I'd been in fandom for several years before I started writing, but as I recall, the first thing I actually wrote was an exceptionally overwrought and tragic Snape POV Remus/Sirius story. I have no idea what happened to it and I'm almost certainly happiest that way.
Self-edit or Beta?
Both!
Comments or Kudos/Reblogs or Likes?
All are delicious.
Smut, Fluff or Angst?
Smut.
Quick & Dirty or Slow Burn?
Quick and dirty on the sex and slow burn on the feelings.
Favourite season?
Season Two
Favourite Episode?
Cheat Day
Favourite book?
The Magicians
Three favourite words?
lovely, devastating, yearning
Want to be interviewed for our author spotlight? Get in touch here.
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False Hope
Title: False Hope
Genre: Historical AU, Angst, Platonic
Word Count: 11, 160
Warnings: Violence, blood, and alcohol
Description: In which Dan is determined to find a wanted outlaw to bring back honor to his father’s business; Phil, a wanted outlaw, steals from Dan’s father’s business to pay off a debt; the mess of revenge that comes along with it; and why each side of the story matters. (Taken place in 1860 America, if you don’t mind.)
Author’s Note: I watched Westworld back in December and somehow got inspired (this has nothing to do with the show, by the way). I hate westerns, so this is probably one of the most ironic things I’ve written. I also haven’t done a historical one in a while, so here you go. (Please remember that this is fiction.)
The alcohol still burned in his throat by the time he reached his destination, understanding perfectly well that drinking straight bourbon was not the wisest thing to do before doing such an important task as the one he was about to do. The street was empty and quiet, with only a few shouts and hollers coming from the old tavern down the dirt road. It was roughly one o’clock in the morning and the dim crescent moon above provided the only light, making tonight’s plans only that more difficult. Philip easily hid in the shadows, determining his first move. To be rather honest, he hadn’t put much thought into his so-called “plan.” He simply happened to come across this whisp of a town and noticed that there was a bank. And as his life quite literally depended on the acquisition of money, he decided to take this opportunity. He understood given the size of this town that there wasn’t much security to worry about. And quite frankly, getting inside the bank wasn’t even a problem of his; it was his mere presence and the fact that he could be seen that was.
There wasn’t any side windows on the first floor to the bank and the front windows did not open. Climbing and going through the second floor would be pretty much asking to get caught as the banker lived upstairs, perhaps even with his whole family. There wasn’t a back door either, which left the front door as the only option. Philip was experienced enough to know that going through the front door for a burglary was one way to be the world’s worst thief, but even the most skilled criminal understood when to break their own rules. He quickly took out his lock picking kit from his pocket and crouched in front of the sturdy wooden door. Being out in the open was not only stupid, it was dangerous, so he had to be quick. He stuck his tools in the lock and began working at it. Despite the fact that he was picking it as quietly as possible, he still felt that anyone down the street could hear him. He held his breath and the back of his neck began to perspire. Each second passed like they were hours. Finally, once everything in the lock aligned perfectly, he turned the doorknob and the door opened smoothly.
The bank was absolutely dark except for what little light the windows provided. Philip’s eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and he saw the teller counter and the gate door that permitted access behind it. Quite easily, he swung his legs over the short wooden gate and immediately searched the counter. All he discovered was important papers and records with numbers written all over them. There had to be a vault somewhere. Now that the light of the windows was obstructed by the counter, he was going blind and undoubtedly making a mess because of that. He whipped out his packet of matches from his pocket, took one out, and stroked it against the sole of his black boot. The small flame began to illuminate his surroundings surprisingly well. He saw that the wall behind the counter had two doors. One perhaps led upstairs and the other hopefully contained the vault. Both doors appeared the same, but before he could make a decision, his match burned out. Well, given the fact that one of the doors was nearest to the gate, that couldn’t possibly lead to the vault. It provided easier access to the front door, meaning that it would make sense that it would lead to the upstairs apartment. The other door was at the end of the wall, protected more by the counter than by the flimsy gate. Therefore with the sheer reliance on common sense, Philip gradually made his way through the darkness quietly to the door at the end. He tried the doorknob before taking out his kit, but thankfully for some odd reason it was unlocked.
The door terribly creaked when he opened it to even more darkness. The room smelled of old iron and it had a cold air to it. Philip took a few steps forward, feeling his surroundings, not wanting to waste many matches. It wasn’t long before he walked into a thick metal wall. He felt along the cool surface until his hand wrapped around a large combination lock. He smiled happily to himself and quickly left the room. The joys of thieving from a small town were that the security was weak and the people were weaker. Everything was transparent. Philip lit another match and took it along the edge of the counter. He remembered seeing a scrap piece of paper with a line of nonsense numbers on it stuck to the counter as if it was a reminder for something. Of course, it all made sense now.
45 12 08. 45 12 08. 45 12 08.
Philip kept repeating the number sequence in his head as he returned to the combination lock and turned the knob according to the sequence. The door opened much louder than Philip would’ve liked, so he quickly entered the vault and searched around. There was dozens of deposit boxes that he kept opening and opening until he finally discovered one worth taking from. It was stuffed full of gold coins and Utah Territory bank notes. Knowing that the bank notes would be too slow and difficult to convert in Nevada where Philip was intending to return to, he decided to take the gold instead.
Carefully and quietly, he closed the vault and tried to clean up after himself. He finally made it out of there, understanding that was the most excruciating forty minutes of this entire week (although it was only very early Monday morning). He snuck out through the front door, happy and relieved to still hear the yelling from the tavern, and disappeared into the shadows once again.
***
Daniel’s worn brown boot kicked a burned match underneath the teller counter as he gave a customer their withdraw money. It was a busy Monday morning, the sun already high in the sky, providing an unnecessary amount of heat to the townspeople. Main Street outside was as active as ever with horses and carts and carriages going up and down the dusty road and keeping up with the bustle of everybody’s schedules. Daniel was thankful he had an additional cup of coffee this morning as he didn’t have a restful sleep last night. The men were being too loud over at the tavern and the house kept creaking (not to mention his brother’s incessant snoring). His mother and younger siblings were upstairs taking care of the house. His father was right next to him, assisting customers as well. It was the way it normally was.
The sheriff suddenly came in with the spurs on the back of his boots clinking and his gold badge sparkling in the morning sunlight. He said hello to a few of the customers and walked directly up to Daniel’s father. He seemed patient and good-tempered, as he typically was.
“Good morning, Mr. Howell!” He greeted him with a friendly smile. “How is business this morning?”
Mr. Howell smiled back at him as he wrote down a few notes for records’ sake. “Oh, just fine, fine. Can I help you with something, Sheriff?”
He shook his head and grabbed something from his back pocket. “No, not in particular. I’m just here to inform you about something.” He smoothed out the piece of paper in his hands on the counter. “There is a wanted man on the run from Nebraska Territory, Mr. Philip Lester.”
Mr. Howell raised his brown bushy eyebrows and tilted his head. “Is he dangerous?”
The sheriff shrugged. “From what I heard, he’s more brains than muscle. But he is armed, of course.”
“What’s he wanted for?”
“Well, he’s a criminal, Howell, what else?”
Mr. Howell leaned on his hands on the counter and glanced at the illustration. “Is that what he looks like?”
He nodded his head. “That’s what the officials from Nebraska came up with.”
“Should there be anything I need to know about this guy? Tactics? Habits? Signals? Traces?”
He sighed and folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. “Honestly, I don’t see him coming here. We don’t even exist on the map yet. For all I know, he’s nothin’ for us to worry about. I’m just doing my job.”
Mr. Howell smiled at him. “Oh, I understand. If I see anything, I’ll let you know.”
Daniel listened to this conversation without much interest as he tried to tidy up the counter a little. To be honest, the sheriff went through the town posting “WANTED” signs all the time. This wasn’t something to get all worked up about.
After a few minutes of silence, shouts and hollers could be heard down the street and Daniel immediately knew who it was. The noise came closer and closer until two obnoxious men entered the quiet bank. They both looked like they hadn’t shaved in a few days and their clothes were a bit dirty and disheveled. Their breath smelled like alcohol and neither one of them could walk in a straight line too well. However, believe it or not, these two men were the wealthiest in this town. They owned everything and got to do anything. They unofficially ran the town. They’ve been nicknamed as the Gold Rush Brothers, if that tells you something.
“Mr. Howell! Daniel! How are you two doing today!” The one brother loudly said. He had brown hair and a crooked smile.
Mr. Howell sighed before answering. “Doing just fine, brothers. Thank you.”
“We’re here for our weekly withdraw.” The other brother announced. He had blond hair and was the more handsome out of the two of them, if Daniel had to decide.
“You know, if you keep spending your money like this, there won’t be much left of it!” Mr. Howell joked as he made his way to the vault room.
“It was our father’s hard-earned money from California!” The first brother argued. “And we inherited it, so we have the right to do whatever we please with it!”
Mr. Howell swung open the vault’s heavy door and went directly to the the Gold Rush deposit box and opened it. He immediately knew that something wasn’t right. It was way too easy to open as coins and bank notes were continuously falling out. Once he peeked inside, there was an empty space as if something was missing. He thought it over, denying his initial thoughts. No, he distinctly remembered those bags of gold still being there yesterday. Perhaps he returned it in the wrong deposit box. He continued to open each and every one of the deposit boxes until he understood what happened and grasped reality. Dread and panic spread over him. The brothers wanted their gold, and they wanted it now. He quickly went over to his family’s own deposit box and took out the appropriate amount for the withdraw and stepped back out into the main room.
“Everything okay?” The blond brother asked worriedly.
Mr. Howell tried to smile casually. “Oh, yeah, yeah. You guys just have so much that it keeps falling out!”
The brothers laughed enthusiastically as Mr. Howell handed over the gold pieces.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Howell.” The brunet said as he stuffed the gold in his pockets. “See you next week!”
When they leave the bank and continued rowdily down the road, Mr. Howell grabbed his son and took him to the candle-lit vault for privacy. He was breathless and recognizably shaken up about something.
Daniel was beginning to worry. “What’s wrong?”
Mr. Howell tightened his grip on Daniel’s arms and squeezed his eyes shut. “We’ve been robbed.”
“What?!” Daniel wrestled out of his father’s hands. “We’ve been what?!”
“The Gold Rush money…well, it’s more Rush than Gold now.”
Daniel became pale and his stomach tightened. “Show me.”
Mr. Howell pathetically opened the Gold Rush deposit box. “See? I checked and I know I didn’t misplace it. I know it was here last night. It’s…gone.”
He looked deeper into the metal box, understanding what his father was saying. “What did you pay them with?”
Mr. Howell remained quiet.
His eyes shifted to his father and he became more serious. “What did you pay them with?”
Mr. Howell placed his hand on his forehead tiredly. “I used our money.”
Daniel widened his eyes in disbelief. “You used our money?! Why did you do that?”
“I-I didn’t want them to panic, you have to understand—”
“Oh, so what?” His brow furrowed with anger. “We’re just going to keep giving them our money until we’re broke?”
“Daniel, you have to understand.” Mr. Howell sighed and spoke sincerely. “These brothers are our top customers. You know how good their business is. They brought so many people to us. If our bank can be trusted to keep the Gold Rush money, then we can keep everyone else’s money, too. You know? And if they find out that we screwed up, our lives are ruined. Everyone would back out. The bank would be over.”
“Our lives are ruined if you keep giving them our money! Have you even thought about this?”
“It was the best I could do, Daniel! It was just one time.”
“Oh yeah, and what happens next week when they come for their weekly withdraw?” He put his hands on his hips.
“I don’t know.” Mr. Howell replied sternly. “This only happened today. We have time to figure this out.”
“We have to do something about it.”
Mr. Howell leaned against the deposit boxes helplessly and folded his arms. “What do you have in mind?”
“I need to tell the sheriff.”
Mr. Howell’s eyes widened and he stood upright again. “No! Everyone will find out! Don’t be stupid.”
Daniel put his hand on his father reassuringly. “Relax, I promise to keep things quiet, alright?”
Mr. Howell looked at him hopefully and finally nodded his head.
During lunch hour, Daniel left the bank and went out to find the sheriff. The “WANTED” sign for this Mr. Philip Lester was now nailed to several poles, though no one paid attention to them. As he passed by shops and houses, he finally saw the sheriff outside of a dry goods store, talking to a few people and putting up another flier.
“Daniel! It’s good to see you again.” The sheriff said, finishing nailing the flier to the pole outside of the store.
“Can I…talk to you?” Daniel asked him quietly. “In private?”
The sheriff understood and took him aside to the alley where trash was dumped and clothing lines up above held freshly clean clothes.
“We’ve been robbed.” Daniel said, keeping his voice and head down low.
“Your family?” The sheriff asked for more clarification.
Daniel shook his head and looked intensely into the sheriff’s eyes. “The bank.”
The sheriff swallowed and took a step back. “Oh, wow, when did you find out?”
“This morning.” Daniel licked his lips and took a step closer to him. “Don’t say anything about this to no one. The bank is to remain trusted. You have to understand that.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” He rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully and took a flier out from his pocket and handed it to Daniel. “It has to be him.”
Daniel became scared, remembering that this was an armed wanted man they were talking about; never before have wanted outlaws been relevant to their town before. “It can’t be.”
“This man is known for picking locks, Daniel. It’s his specialty. Nebraska told me so.” He took his hat off, ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair, and put his hat back on. “…And he particularly focuses on banks.”
Daniel shook his head and looked at the flier again. Mr. Philip Lester wore all black from his wide brimmed hat to his boots. His face appeared serious and clean shaven and he wore circular wired glasses. His gun holster was intimidating as it held a well-polished pistol, knife, and bullets. Daniel swallowed fearfully and folded up the flier and put it in his back pocket.
“Don’t worry, son, nothing bad is gonna happen.” The sheriff reassuringly patted Daniel’s back. “I’ll be over this evening to do a proper investigation. How does that sound?”
Daniel offered a weak smile. “Thanks.”
***
After several long hours of walking in the dry dirt underneath the unforgiving Utah sun, Philip finally took a rest underneath some oak trees in a grassy area. He took the last drink of warm water from his canteen and relaxed up against the trunk of the tree and sighed. From his black cotton drawstring bag he grabbed the bags of gold of which provided the only real weight to his pack. He dumped the gold onto the grass which created a rather lovely sound to him. He began piling and piling the stacks of gold coins, gradually understanding that he stole a lot more than what he truly needed. Therefore, in one bag he set aside enough gold to cover his $250 debt and the remainder in the other bag. He was feeling good. Granted, he knew it would take a while to reach Nebraska Territory, but he was relieved that he had all the money to pay off his debt. He’s never felt this secure in an incredible long time. His stomach growled for the unknown time that day, so he packed up his things and returned to his path.
After nearly an hour or so, the path eventually led him to a ghost town with oddly only a general store left. The rest of the buildings were dilapidated or completely collapsed. The dirt was even drier here, which Philip thought was impossible. The silence was eerie and almost made him uncomfortable. His eyes immediately noticed the rusted iron water pump outside, so he quickly took the opportunity to refill both of his canteens. As he prepared to enter the store, he smiled to himself and decided he should have some fun with this being that no one was around and he was rather terribly bored. He walked up the wooden stairs and entered the store, the owner greeting him. All the merchandise appeared neat and wonderful on their designated shelves. Philip took a while to appreciate it before he walked up to the counter.
Before Philip said anything to the owner, he took out his well-polished pistol and cocked it. He held it in the air all too casually, pointing it to the ceiling. “Hello, I’d like to get a few things.”
The owner held up his hands fearfully and swallowed. “S-sure. Wh-what’s the occasion?”
Philip shrugged, not exactly being careful with his loaded gun in his hands. “Oh, I’m just returning home to Nebraska.”
“Oh, Nebraska,” He said in a shaky voice. “I heard that place is beautiful in the fall.”
Philip smiled brightly. “Sure is! Beautiful during all the rest of the year, too.”
He bit his lip. “Wh-what would you like?”
Philip turned around to look at the store and what it all had to offer. “Some food for one thing.” He pointed with his pistol to the items he wanted. “Those oranges, that loaf of bread, some deer jerky, potatoes, whatever that’s in those cans over there…”
The owner frantically put each item in the little wicker basket in his arms. “A-anything else?”
“Ummm, got any whiskey?”
“How many bottles?” He asked as he went back behind the counter to the limited alcohol selection.
Philip shrugged. “Oh, just one.”
He placed the bottle in the basket. “Will that be all?”
Philip tilted his head, bit his lip, and looked at him hopefully. “Got any bullets?”
He quickly shook his head. “Not that kind of store.”
Philip sighed. “What about socks? I need some new socks.”
He offered an apologetic look and set the basket in front of Philip on the counter. “I’m sorry sir, but my wife is doing the best she can. I just sold my last pair.” He shrugged. “Suddenly everybody wants socks!” He smiled at him. “But I promise you I’ll give you the first pair I get tomorrow!”
Philip pointed his gun at him. “I won’t be here tomorrow.”
The owner pushed the basket closer to Philip and pressed himself against the wall behind the counter. “I apologize, then.”
Philip smiled as he packed all his new things in his bag. He reached into the bag that had the extra gold and took a handful of it. He released the gold on the counter and put his gun back in his leather holster. Before he left, he tilted his hat and told the owner while offering a charming smile, “Pleasure doing business with you.”
***
Perhaps a few drinks of blended scotch could calm Daniel’s nerves. All day he’s been uptight about money and the bank and those wretched Gold Rush Brothers. And that thief. He didn’t realize how fragile his life was until today. Just anyone could pick it up and ruin it. The sheriff was putting together a case, although Daniel had to admit he wasn’t too confident in him. The locksmith was already working on new locks for all the doors and the vault. It amazed Daniel that they could’ve been killed last night. That thief could’ve easily climbed the stairs and killed his parents and his two siblings. Daniel knew he had to change things. His father was getting old and used to the familiarity and security of a small town. They couldn’t keep keys and combination codes lying around anymore. They had to become smarter.
Daniel swallowed the last of his scotch and slammed the glass down on the bar counter. He skimmed over the town’s newspaper as he listened to the happenings going on around him. There was a group of men on the side of the room playing pool. Daniel supposed the game was intense as there was some pointing and shouting. Upstairs the ladies were working in the bedrooms, doing whatever they did best to the people who paid them. Daniel was never intrigued as he never had the money. Finally, there were about three or four tables set up for gambling. Daniel never had the money for that either, but he also never had the skill. He didn’t know one thing about poker. He just knew that the Gold Rush Brothers played it practically all night, gambling their own inherited money away. It was a foolish thing to do, Daniel believed.
“Oh yeah!” The Gold Rush Brothers shouted out and hollered proudly.
Daniel glanced over his shoulder and understood that they actually won.
The brunet brother pushed all the money to his side of the table and began counting it, acting real pleased with himself.
“Hey Dan!” The blond brother shouted out.
Daniel turned around in his seat. “What?”
“Better make some more room in our deposit box tomorrow!” He announced happily. “We struck gold again!”
Daniel rolled his eyes and returned to his boring paper. He felt scared again. They have no idea what happened to their money. Quite frankly, Daniel didn’t know either. But it had to be that Mr. Philip Lester thief. He’s supposed to be smart, right? That had to be the only way he took that gold. Daniel took out that flier again to look at Philip more clearly. He was an attractive man that could stare you down and make you squirm. At least, that’s what Daniel assumed. The illustration of him seemed pretty accurate and believable. He thought back to how hopeless his father was this morning. He also thought that this would be a never ending cycle unless someone did something about it.
Daniel folded up the flier and shoved it in his back pocket. He paid the bartender his tab and left the tavern. The sky was dark now, the moon nearly ready to become new. The road was quiet and empty the way it typically was at this time in the night. Daniel gradually made his way back to the bank. When he reached the front stairs, he was startled by a dark figure sitting in front of the door. He could tell it was his father who was sleeping with the family’s rifle in his hands.
“Hey, hey, get up.” Daniel shook him.
His father slowly woke up, yawning and blinking a few times. He looked at his son in bewilderment. “Daniel?”
“What are you doing here, Dad? You scared me.”
He sat up straighter against the door. “I have to protect my family and my business.” He explained drowsily. “We can’t have these thieves thinking they can own us now.”
“I have the locksmith working on the locks. Everything will be okay.” Daniel took ahold of his hands and struggled to lift him up. “You need to get some sleep.”
“But what if that thief tells all his other thief comrades about us and how easy it was to rob us?”
“Shhh! Stay quiet about that! The sheriff is keeping the look out. You don’t need to do this.” Daniel attempted lifting him up again and this time he succeeded.
Mr. Howell sighed tiredly. “What time is it?”
“Time to go to bed, that’s what time it is!”
Daniel unlocked the front door and led his father inside, hoping for a better, and safer, night.
***
It is rather lame to admit, but Daniel had never left his town before. Once when he was going through a rebellious phase during his teenage years he visited the outskirts with a few of his friends. He only remembered a bunch of dried up dirt and green wilderness out there. It was frightening to him, so he promised himself to never go beyond the town’s limits. This morning while packing his bag he couldn’t believe he’d be seeing it again and going beyond for the first time. He didn’t know how long he was going to be gone or what to pack, so he put in a good amount of food, a few changes of clothes, some soap, a cast iron frying pan, his comb, a wool blanket, and a lantern. As he was filling up his canteens from their water supply by only the light of a few candles, his mother came into the kitchen with her white nightgown on. She yawned and curiously watched her son move about.
“Goin’ somewhere?” She asked him, not exactly willing to begin making the morning coffee yet.
“I’m leaving town.” Daniel answered as he began a final check of his bag.
“Well, what for?” She folded her arms.
Daniel got the “WANTED” flier out from his pocket and held it up to her. “To find him.”
She snatched the wrinkled paper from his hands to take a better look of the illustration. “Daniel, this man is dangerous. What’s the purpose of going after him? He’s no different than any other wanted outlaw we see on fliers just like this one.”
“He’s the one who robbed us.” He tied his drawstring bag together. “I’m sure of it.”
She folded her arms again and looked at him. “Are you serious? You’re going after some man—a criminal, I might add—who might’ve robbed us? Where is your proof, son?”
“His story…it all adds up.” He hoisted his bag on his shoulder and grabbed the family rifle from the fireplace in the living room.
“Daniel, have you even planned this out? What if you get hurt? What if you run out of food? What if you do find him and he kills you! I am not going to have my son get killed for something so stupid! Where is your brain? Can’t you see we need you? Let the sheriff take care of it. You don’t know one thing about surviving in the wilderness; let alone how to defend for yourself. Ha!”
“We don’t have much time!” Daniel shouted, becoming irritated by her pestering.
“Shhh! Everyone is still asleep!” She whispered. “You need to work at the bank. Your father can’t do it alone. Especially not now.”
Daniel walked up to her and whispered back, “You know what I caught him doing last night? He was sat outside with this gun, asleep, trying to guard the bank.” He shook his head. “We can’t live like this! And if no one else is going to go out there and actively do something about it, then I am. If you want our family to stay alive, then I have to do this. Those Gold Rush Brothers are our way of life and we’re this close to losing them.”
She sighed, giving up her argument. “I hate them.” She shook her head. “I hate the way they walk around and own everything. I hate the way they are better than everyone else and tell everyone what to do. I hate the fact that everyone depends on them.” She looked up at her son sincerely. “Without them, this town wouldn’t be anything.”
“I need to get that money back, Mother.”
She glared at him and looked down at the wooden floor, reminding herself that she needed to sweep it later in the day. “Go. I can’t do anything to stop you anyway.”
Daniel smiled and kissed her goodbye and wished the family well. He promised he’d be back as soon as he could and that he would fix everything and nothing too bad would happen to him. Soon he was out the door, without one word to his father.
***
It would perhaps be approximately another week before Philip entered Nebraska Territory. To be quite honest, he wasn’t expecting for it to take this long. But ever since he stole that gold two or three days ago, time seemed to go much faster than his own two legs. It has been nothing but woodlands, but he was glad about that. It kept him focused. Plus, he didn’t want to spend all his gold in one spot. However, despite his homesickness, he was feeling rather alright. He was healthy and wealthy and he believed life didn’t get any better than that. And although he drank the remainder of his bottle of whisky for dinner, he was ready to take on the world.
Well, that was until someone attempted to suffocate him in his sleep tonight. A large dirty hand covered his face while he was sleeping, instantly waking him up in a panic. Immediately, he reached for his holster, cocked his pistol, and shot at the first person he saw in the arm. Blood spread all over the blond man’s blue cotton button down shirt and he screamed out in pain. He fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding arm, while the other man, a brunet, tackled Philip and flipped him over so his front side was pressing into the dirt. He sat on Philip’s back as he tied rope around his wrists and ankles. To Philip’s advantage, they didn’t gag him; they only set him aside by a tree while they made a fire. He had to painfully watch them as they rummaged through his pack without his permission and discovered the gold. They claimed it was theirs, but Philip didn’t believe them as he knew by now that every thief felt entitled to claim anything they saw. Philip didn’t see the gold as gold anymore; it was his life that they held in their filthy hands. And he was determined to get it back. The rope felt so tight around his wrists and ankles that he knew wrestling out of them wasn’t an option. He had to try another, more cunning way.
“So, uh, who are you? Where did you come from?” Philip asked over the shouts of pain from the blond man. The brunet was struggling to take out the bullet and stop the bleeding.
“They call us the Gold Rush Brothers.” The brunet began with a sly smile while digging around in the other man’s bullet wound with a pair of forceps, his agonizing screams echoing throughout the woods. “You know why?”
Philip shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose it has something to do with the Gold Rush?”
“Our father traveled all across the country to California on horseback in 1850. Took him three weeks.” By the most outrageous deafening sound that came from the blond man in his lap, Philip guessed that the bullet was out. The brunet inspected the bullet for a few seconds and then threw it into the fire. He began wrapping a strip of cloth around the blond man’s bleeding arm. “Anyway, all our old man had was a dream. And he worked hard for that dream. And now we got all the gold we could ever want.” After he tied the cloth and roughly shoved the man off his lap, he glanced up at the stars. “God bless his soul.”
Philip’s eyes shifted over to the bags of gold that was simply lying by their packs. “You mean that was really your gold?”
“Yes, and it still is.” The blond man finally spoke, leaning against a rotting log. “Now no one can find any gold in California. So whatever that is in those bags over there is pretty special.”
Philip twisted his mouth. “Well if you said you had all the gold you could ever want, then why does this small amount matter so much to you? After all, it’s nothing in comparison to what you already have.”
“Because, everyone in town now thinks we’re weak by letting our money get stolen.” The brunet answered. “We know who you are. And we are not particularly appreciative.”
The other brother held up a flier that had Philip’s illustration on it, along with the word “WANTED” written in large red letters. “You’re a wanted man, Mr. Philip.”
Philip retracted, surprised that he made it on another “WANTED” flier. However, he was mainly slightly embarrassed and not amused. “So? Stay out of my business.”
“You know, it’s awfully hard to stay out of your business when you deliberately interfered with ours.” The brunet sipped from his coffee, the cup made out of an old can.
“Oh please, if I knew it was yours I wouldn’t be here right now.” Philip retorted. “I’d be long gone. I’m not stupid.”
“Either way, the gold isn’t yours to take.” The blond said. “You already ruined our reputation, shouldn’t that be enough?”
Philip was going to say something, but he gave up and sighed. He shook his head and said, “I have nothing against you guys!” He stared at the fire and gradually understood that the gold was being taken away from him for good. Now he was back at the awful beginning again, fighting for his own wretched life. “Look, you can keep the gold. Now why am I still tied up like some prisoner?”
The brunet finished the remainder of his coffee and smiled at him. “Because at sunrise we’re gonna hang you.”
***
By this point into his journey, Daniel wished someone would’ve told him, in detail, how difficult it would be. He was essentially going into the wilderness blind. He didn’t have a map with him and he knew it would be impossible to search every inch of land for this one man who was probably a lot cleverer than he was. He had been away from home for roughly two days now. So far, he had ripped his first set of clothes, managed to accidentally spill all his water supply, cut his hand while peeling potatoes, and step on an ant hill. He was absolutely miserable.
Yesterday, however, gave him some type of hope. He somehow stumbled upon a ghost town that strangely contained only a general store. He was able to get some water and purchase some supplies, but the owner was clearly disturbed by something. He was watching Daniel closely. When Daniel went to buy his items, he held up the “WANTED” flier to the man and he jumped back into the wall, frightened. Daniel asked if he knew who the man was on the flier and he nodded his head violently and said he was recently there the day before. Daniel was glad about that news. But he was also discouraged as he didn’t know the pace either of them was traveling in.
Perhaps he was discouraged all the way around. Who was he to think he could save everybody? Could he really take down a criminal such as Mr. Philip Lester himself? He wasn’t even certain how to shoot the very rifle he’s been carrying around for two days. And what was he going to do once he found him? Kill him? Capture him? Hurt him? He felt like he could do neither of those things. What if Philip didn’t even have the gold anymore? What was he going to do then? What would be the point of anything? He understood, however, that he couldn’t give up. His family by now knew where he was and what he was doing. He had to at least try for them. He’ll simply figure the rest out as time went on. Granted, it wasn’t the best plan, but it was the only plan he had.
***
Philip had to watch the cursed sun gradually creep up the horizon and poke through the trees around him. This wasn’t his plan. Both men took shifts during the night to protect the gold. Philip’s eyes were beyond tired by now and his body was aching from having to be tied up. But he supposed it didn’t matter anymore. He was going to die soon. He finally wrapped his head around it. To be quite honest, he would much rather go out this way. He knew that when he hit Nebraska, he would be a dead man anyway now that he didn’t have the money to pay off his debt. He could imagine being shot or stabbed to death by his fellow gunslingers. Either way, torture would be enforced. Hanging was more merciful, he believed. He much rather become intimate with the effects of gravity than the effects of a bullet or a knife. It was less messy.
“You scared yet?” The brunet brother taunted him as they gathered up the rather thick rope.
Philip swallowed and didn’t say anything.
“Too bad you don’t have much of an audience.” The other brother added, helping with the rope. “‘Here today on this fine Thursday morning, Mr. Philip Lester, a notable thief from western America, is to be hanged for his crimes—to die, a martyr.’ Boy, I can already see your photograph in the paper!” He laughed.
“A martyr?” Philip asked with disbelief, glaring from underneath his wide-brimmed hat. “I ain’t no martyr.”
“Uh, yes you are!” The first brother argued, struggling to make a noose. “You ain’t even sorry for stealin’ our gold!”
“I didn’t even know it was yours!” Philip argued back. “And you’re right, I’m not sorry, and I do stand by that. You two are greedy, dumb fools.”
The blond walked up to him and smacked him hard in the face. “You’re lucky you’re gonna be dead soon.”
Philip glanced at the man’s bandage, the blood still seeping through, and smiled. “Well I’m sure glad you have something to remember me by, then.”
He glared at him before returning to the rope. “Hurry up a little, we don’t have all day.”
“I’m working on it!” His brother said.
Philip rolled his eyes, wishing he was to be killed by much more honorable men than these two idiots. After several long minutes of them arguing to each other about how to tie a proper noose knot, Philip was lifted up from his feet and dragged to a maple tree that was approximately fifty yards ahead of their campsite. After they dumped his pack on the ground, he was then raised onto a large boulder they somehow found. The brunet secured the rope around the tree while his brother wrapped the noose around Philip’s neck. It suddenly felt real him. This was really happening. He was ultimately helpless and vulnerable with his hands tied behind his back and ankles secured together. Once that boulder got rolled away, it would be over. No going back.
“Wait!” Philip disrupted his hanging quite rudely.
The two brothers sighed irritably and said, “What?”
“Don’t you think, you know, as a martyr, I deserve to say any last words?” Philip asked them.
They both looked at each other, sat down on the grass, and the blond said, “Go on then.”
Philip cleared his throat and held his head up high. “I Philip Michael Lester (the Third, I might add) from the most respected and beautiful Territory of Nebraska decide not to die with any regrets nor apologies to any one I might inconvenience with my most honorable death. I do understand that my debt is still not paid but it should be known that I never wanted to pay it in the first place.” He inhaled and exhaled quite overdramatically. “I am a free man now. May my great legacy live on forever.” He looked around at the wooded area where there were the only two brothers sitting down in front of him. “Should anyone object to this hanging before we continue?” He glared at the men. “Oh yes, I do.”
The blond looked over at his brother and back at Philip. “He can’t do that. Can he do that?”
The brunet sighed and stood up. “Alright, that’s enough. You’ve wasted enough of our time.”
Philip held his head up high again, but more proudly this time. “Good, I was finished anyway.”
The two brothers then began to kick at the boulder several times and it oh so gradually moved. It was killing Philip how slow it was moving. He wanted this to be over for quite some time now. Eventually, with one final push, the heavy boulder was completely removed from underneath Philip. Immediately, the rope tightened slightly around his neck and his feet completely touched the ground with utmost ease. Philip still kept his head down low, however, and rolled his eyes. Idiots, he thought. He believed it would be best to begin making choking sounds so they could leave him alone to “die” in peace. Unfortunately, the hanging was not enough for the two men. They began beating him relentlessly all over the body, causing bruising and blood gushing out everywhere. The last Philip saw was them taking the bags of gold and running away and then complete darkness.
***
Nearly an entire full day had passed and Daniel was still unsuccessful in his journey. He knew he didn’t have much food left and that he would have to return home soon, but he also knew he couldn’t tolerate to see the disappointed looks on his family’s faces when they realized he didn’t get the gold back. He was feeling so low that he was even considering staying out in the wilderness so he wouldn’t have to face his family at all. Discouragement was eating away at him and soon nothing would be remaining if he continued allowing it get this way.
As he was thinking of ways of how to get gold in other methods so he wouldn’t have to find Philip, he came across a burned campfire. The sun was beginning to set and he believed he was fortunate to discover this rather convenient spot. As he looked into the burned sticks and logs, he saw a melted bullet. To anyone else this wouldn’t indicate much of anything, but given that Daniel had been desperate for clues, he took this as a sign. He set his pack down and looked around him. Up ahead was a medium-sized maple tree and he seen the most peculiar figure directly underneath a bough. Daniel took the rifle with him and he made his way up to the tree.
He yelped when he saw it was a man who had a noose tied around his neck with his ankles and wrists tied together as well. Oddly, though, his feet were touching the ground and he was slightly leaning forward. Daniel took a closer look at him to tell if he was still alive or not. Dried up blood was all over the man’s face and his skin was mostly black and blue. His black clothes still appeared remarkably intact. His pack was adjacent to the tree and Daniel quickly searched in it. Some food was still left, but nothing too out of the ordinary.
“Well, aren’t you gonna untie me?” The voice of the hanged man said.
Daniel jumped up, his heart racing. He walked up to the man and noticed that he carried a knife in his holster. Quickly, he began cutting away the noose, the man not saying one word to him. Once the noose was completely cut through, the man fell forward onto the ground and laid there motionless. Daniel crouched beside him and flipped him on his back. Now that he was up close with the man, he started to become more familiar. Daniel pulled out the “WANTED” flier and held it up to the man’s bloody and dirty face. It was clear now. This was him alright.
Daniel hoisted the pack on his shoulder and lifted up the poor man by his underarms. He dragged him back to the campsite with much struggle and leaned him up against a rotting log. During the next hour and a half or so, Daniel successfully found fresh water and volunteered to refill all the canteens. He then got a fire going while the last few rays of sunlight were still in the sky. Using both supplies of food, Daniel had no other option but to make beans and potatoes. However, it was much better than his last meal of an apple and a handful of peanuts.
Once some food was in his system, he sat beside Philip and shook him a little. He didn’t move. Daniel decided to help the pathetic being and took out Philip’s knife again and cut away the rope that was constricting his ankles and wrists. He took one of the shirts that he accidentally torn from a few days ago and poured some water over it from one of the canteens. He rubbed some of his soap into the shirt, glad to see that it had some use after all. Finally, he began washing away all the dried blood on Philip’s skin, trying to be as gentle as possible. After a few minutes, Philip’s eyes began to flutter and he groaned out in pain. In time his eyes were open and he watched Daniel clean off his face.
“What are you doing?” Philip croaked out.
“I’m trying to make you feel better.” Daniel answered and took off Philip’s glasses, surprised that they have survived this long. He cleaned them with the hem of his striped shirt and put them back on Philip’s face.
Philip’s brow furrowed. “Who are you? You want me dead, too, I bet.” He sighed tiredly.
Daniel swallowed and decided to be smart about this. “No, no, I just found you hanging by a rope over on that tree over there. I’m Daniel. I-I was visiting some…some family over in these parts and I needed to make camp. I’m so sorry. What happened to you?”
Philip set aside his wide brimmed hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Well, I was almost killed for one thing. I’m just lucky that they were idiots who didn’t know the first thing when it comes to noose knotting.” He smiled and shook his head. “Boy, has this been a crazy week or what?”
Daniel could full-heartedly agree, but he decided to not mention it. Instead he asked, “Well what were you doing out here anyway?”
Philip hesitated for some reason. “I was checking out some land. I’ve been thinking about living on my own out here, away from all those people. All of a sudden everyone is so busy and forgotten how to appreciate life, you know?”
He was lying. If Daniel didn’t know who he already was, he would’ve foolishly believed him. He was terribly good at it. “You sure you want to do that after this encounter?”
“Oh sure, nothing can replace the feeling of appreciating life in its truest form when you’re faced with your own death. It taught me a few things.” He folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the stars. “Builds character.”
“Why were you almost killed?”
He shrugged. “I just so happened to trespass on the wrong person’s land.” He rolled his eyes. “Which is a bunch of nonsense. If you don’t want someone trespassing, then put a sign up. Goodness!”
Daniel looked at him for a few moments as it became silent between them. “How about coming back to my town? That way you could get checked out by a doctor and fully recover properly.”
Philip glanced at him and then at the fire. “Does your town have a tavern?”
Daniel smiled. “Of course!”
“Then I guess it’ll be worth it.”
Daniel decided to drop the conversation and spread out his wool blanket. He had a lot to think about now, especially since his entire plan changed. The gold was somehow gone, he had noticed. He knew the trespassing story was a lie too. It was a good one, though. But he still wasn’t certain what happened to that gold or how he was going to get it back. All along he feared that would happen. But he had to work with what he got. He had the thief. And that was the next best thing for him.
***
Despite that he was an absolute stranger and their encounter was rather humiliating, Philip was getting around to liking Daniel. Perhaps the fact that he was much more decent and pleasant than those Gold Rush Brothers had an effect on it, but there was also nothing suspicious about him. He was simply a regular guy returning from a visit with his family. It was nice of him to offer his town as a place for Philip to stay and recuperate. Philip supposed that’s what he needed; time to rest before hitting the road again. He still had a long way to go. His body still ached and he had developed a limp. He was actually looking forward to town.
Daniel was a simple man to talk to given that he was boring and bland all over, much like a stale piece of white bread. Philip had to laugh at the fact that he actually brought a bar of soap and a comb with him. He had absolutely no adventure to him which caused even Philip’s most boring stories sound all the more interesting. And Daniel would laugh genuinely and Philip would simply smile because he’s told these stories dozens of times now and they’ve all become rather repetitive. Most of them were about the odd happenings in his hometown and his group of “friends.” He didn’t even have to over exaggerate, although he had to be cautious about how much he told as he didn’t want Daniel to know who he was. Daniel simply enjoyed his company, which felt odd to someone like him. He was so used to hanging out with outlaws that he was beginning to like how different this was. It was less stressful.
“I have an old friend who lived in Oregon for about fifteen years, back when it was still called ‘Oregon Country’ and the British occupied it, and from what he told me, I don’t think I ever want to go there.” Philip said as he ate his peeled orange. It was their first day of traveling to Daniel’s town and they were camping for the night.
“Oh yeah? What’s the big deal about that place?” Daniel asked, peeling his orange.
“Well, he saw a lot of…peculiar stuff.” Philip continued. “But the one thing he kept seeing repetitively over those fifteen years was this giant, and I mean giant, human-looking ape thing. It has dark hair all over it and walks on two legs and stands about eight feet tall—hands as big as watermelons probably! People seen goats and deer just snapped in half and they think it’s…it’s whatever this thing is. It’s hard to see one in the daytime since it’s nocturnal, but I heard once you see it, you can never unsee it again.”
Daniel bit his lip, clearly feeling a bit vulnerable being out in the open. “So it lived in the woods?”
“Yeah!” Philip exclaimed, mouth full of an orange slice. “I mean, what else can explain those giant footprints in the mud up there?”
“Are you sure it’s real? What’s it called?”
Philip shrugged. “I don’t know, I forget. Some people say it’s just a person dressed up in a costume, but I don’t think so. Why would someone dress up in such an elaborate costume just to walk around in the woods?”
“Are there photographs of it?” He asked, finished with his peeling.
Philip shook his head. “By the time the camera would be ready, it would be gone. My friend has drawn illustrations of it though. It’s honestly something you’d see only in your nightmares.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t a bear or something?”
“I haven’t seen one myself yet, so I can’t say for sure.”
“Well has anyone else seen this…this creature?” Daniel peeled off an orange wedge and began eating it.
“Oh yeah! It’s all they talk about over in Oregon!”
He bit his lip. “How many are there?”
Philip ate another orange wedge before answering. “I think only one.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “There can’t be only one of this thing. There has to be a population, or else it wouldn’t exist. In order for its species to survive there needs to be offspring. Otherwise, maybe it really is some freak in a costume.”
“You’re saying its fake?”
He nodded his head. “You haven’t shown me any substantial proof and all the information you told me doesn’t seem to add up. No way can there be an eight foot creature that walks on two legs and is only one of its own kind. If it exists, how come I am just now hearing about it?”
“Because its habitat isn’t in Utah! It’s up around Oregon and Washington Territory.”
“Whatever.” Daniel threw his orange peels in the fire and sat back against the stone walls. He looked up at the stars and the moon. He listened to the crickets chirp endlessly and the fire crack beside him. “Hey.”
Philip opened his eyes and glanced over at him. “Yeah?”
“So if your friend really saw this thing frequently in the span of fifteen years, it has probably seen him before too. Yet your friend is still living today, right? Perhaps it’s not that dangerous.”
Philip smiled at him. “Oh you’re scared, Dan? Scared that an eight foot hairy giant might jump out of your so-called fairytale book and kidnap you?” He laughed. “My friend only saw this thing from far away. It might not see long distances well.” He patted his holster. “Either way, I got your back.”
Daniel glanced down at Philip’s characteristic shiny pistol. “Ever killed anyone?”
Philip closed his eyes again and draped his hands across his abdomen. “I think it’s time to go to sleep.”
***
Philip would like to take back everything nice he had ever said or thought about Daniel. All day he had been telling him how near they were to his town; it was not only irritating Philip, it was also worrying him. He remembered how the two Gold Rush Brothers found him in the middle of the woods based on that flier. What if Daniel’s town knew of that flier? Philip didn’t think that was possible since Daniel was being so nice to him. But still. Word traveled fast in the West. There had to at least be one person who knew who he was in this town. He was going to have to come up with something.
Daniel decided for them to take a break after three long hours of them walking underneath the hot sun. They discovered a typical Utah-like field of long grass and wildflowers that flowed with the summer breeze. The horizon far off provided a gorgeous picturesque view of the snow-capped Rocky Mountains. There was a flowing stream in a shady place where there were weeping willows and cattails. And there were some dandelions scattered amongst the cool grass. They were like false hope; beautiful at a certain perspective, yet still only a disappointing weed in the end. Was it stupid for Philip to find meaning in them? He was longing for something good to finally happen to him, and halfway believing that it actually could, but he knew deep down that he didn’t deserve one thing in his wicked life. He watched as Daniel filled their canteens with fresh water, understanding that things would change soon. When Daniel was finished and was walking back over to their spot, Philip was gazing at him as if he had something important to say yet he was scared to say it.
“What is it?” Daniel asked him as he sat beside him and searched in his bag for something to eat.
Philip tucked his legs underneath him and rubbed his hands on his thighs nervously. Out of everything he’s been through in his life, he chooses to be nervous now? “I have to tell you something.”
“Oh don’t be getting all soft on me now.” Daniel said, giving up on finding a snack. “I know we’ve bonded over the past few days, but…”
“No, Dan, it’s—it’s really important.”
Daniel looked at him sincerely. “Alright, I’m listening.”
Philip took in a deep breath before explaining, “It’s not safe for me to go to your town. I’m-I’m a wanted man, Daniel, and I can’t have anyone seeing me or else…or else I’ll get killed.”
Daniel’s face remained unchanged. “What do you want me to do? Your limp is getting worse; I can’t just leave you out here like this.”
Philip shifted closer to him and their eye contact became more intense. “You don’t understand, I’m a bad person. I’m a criminal. You have no idea who I am and what I’ve been through.” He shook his head. “Dan, I’m part of a ring of outlaw gunslingers of which I owe a pretty high debt to! If I don’t pay that debt soon, they’re gonna find me and kill me just like they’ve killed everyone else they’ve come across.” His bottom lip quivered. “They’re ruthless. I should know. I’m one of them.” His eyes began to water and tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m in danger. You have to help me.” He reached out to hold Daniel’s hands. “You have to protect me. Promise you’ll protect me.”
Daniel swallowed and glanced down at their hands and back up to Philip’s red puffy eyes. “Of course.” He croaked out and cleared his throat. “Of course. I’m the one who invited you. I’m responsible for anything that happens to you.”
Philip broke into a smile and embraced Daniel. “Oh, thank you, thank you! You are so kind.” He let go of him and watched as the breeze flowed through Daniel’s long hair. “Hey, perhaps when I’m all better I could repay you and take you back to my town in Nebraska. I know a guy that can cut your hair real nice and another guy that makes really good homemade booze. It’ll be…It’ll be real fun.”
Daniel pushed him away playfully. “You don’t like my hair?”
Philip smiled and shrugged. “No, it’s fine. I just offered just in case you wanted to do something different.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Come on, we have to get going.”
The two of them got their few things together and started trekking their way through the field, smelling the lovely aroma the flowers gave off and feeling a sense of care and understanding.
***
Certainly nothing could ever replace the feeling of coming back home, Daniel believed. He’s been away for so long and missed being around civilization and the comfort of his own bed. Bringing Philip here was a risk considering that he had been lying to him the whole time about who he really was. But that won’t matter soon anyway. He simply needed to do the right thing first. When they began walking down Main Street, everyone began welcoming Daniel and then looked curiously at Philip whom was hiding behind him. The Sunday evening traffic slowed down once they saw who was back in town. Everyone got out of their shops to provide their welcoming. Daniel didn’t realize he was this popular. You’d think he was one of the Gold Rush Brothers, which, by the way, also stopped and stared and whispered to each other.
“Dan, I think it’ll be a good idea if we weren’t so out in the open.” Philip frantically whispered behind him. “I need to find a place to stay.”
“Relax; I know what I’m doing.” Daniel told him all too calmly. He kept greeting everyone he met and walked down the street with confidence and a sense of belonging. He was ultimately ironically relaxed, given the circumstances.
Philip tried to pull his hat down lower to conceal his eyes more and he followed closely behind Daniel. It was apparent he was uncomfortable being in this vulnerable position.
Daniel abruptly stopped walking and began talking to a man that had boots with spurs, a gold badge, and a brown leather holster. “Hello, Sheriff.”
Philip stood motionless as each agonizing second passed, barely breathing.
“Hello, Daniel!” The sheriff replied. “Heard you been gone for a while. Good to see you back. Your father’s been missing you at the bank. Good news, by the way, the gold as has been returned!”
Daniel tilted his head. “Is that so?”
“Yep! The Gold Rush Brothers returned with it not too long ago. Said they found it somewhere in the woods?” The sheriff shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
Daniel smiled as he gripped onto Philip’s wrist behind him. Philip immediately looked up and the sheriff glanced at him suspiciously. “Hey, you know that man that’s been on those fliers all around town lately?”
“Yes…” The sheriff said, wondering where this is going.
Daniel shoved Philip into the sheriff’s arms. “You can keep him.”
“Well, thanks for the little present!” The sheriff said with a wide smile and began handcuffing Philip.
Philip wrestled out of the handcuffs and pushed the sheriff back. His eyes were as cold as ice as they pierced into Daniel’s while he walked up to him. It was like there wasn’t a sound made in that town. A large crowd had formed and all eyes were intensely focused on the two of them. “What have you done?” Philip asked him almost inaudibly and then again more loudly, “What have you done?” He shook his head in disbelief, struggling to not become emotional. “You promised me. You promised you’d protect me. You’re a liar.” He began shaking with absolute rage. “You’re a liar!”
Daniel kept his hands behind his back and offered a devilish smile. “Yes, but I never promised to tell the truth.” He let his hands fall at his side and paced side to side a little. “You see, I’ve been on to you. You were the thief that robbed my father’s bank. And although I may not be protecting you the way you’d like, I am protecting my people from criminals such as yourself.”
Philip looked around at all the town people that were watching. He kicked some dirt at his boots which turned into a cloud of dust. He tilted his head and offered a crooked smile. “So, Dan, tell me what’s it like to be the town hero! Catching all the bad guys and putting them in jail.” He pushed Daniel backwards a little. The sheriff put his arms around Philip, but he simply pushed him away too. “How does it feel, Daniel? Because I really don’t see what good you think you did!” He shrugged. “Sure I stole the gold, I admit it. But it sure wasn’t you who gave it back to the people that it belonged to!” His eyes locked with a familiar brunet and blond, who were staring directly back, eager to see where this all went. His brow furrowed and he moved closer to Daniel. “And wasn’t that the whole point to this little game in the first place? I may not know the full story here, but I can still piece together the little I do know. I’m not dumb.” He folded his arms and stared down Daniel. “Goodness, if it wasn’t for me, your little banking business would be over, wouldn’t it?” He stepped forward and got into Daniel’s face. “You’re no a hero, you’re a liar! You’re a liar and a betrayer!” He finally let his seething emotions get the best of him and he gripped Daniel’s shirt so tightly that some of the seams tore open.
Daniel got ahold of his shoulders and shoved and kicked him away. He was breathing heavy and certainly had enough of this some time ago. He glared at the sheriff. “Put this piece of Nebraskan trash where it belongs.”
The sheriff finally managed to put handcuffs on Philip.
“We’re not finished, Daniel!” Philip warned him and spat in his face. “Don’t you forget who I am!”
The sheriff began yanking him away, Daniel simply stood there with a stern face.
Philip shouted and yelled as he struggled to get out of the sheriff’s tight grip. “Go to hell! All of you!” By this point he was being dragged by his underarms up to the sheriff’s office. “I, Philip Michael Lester the Third from the most respected and beautiful Territory of Nebraska,” he announced breathlessly, but altogether surprisingly eloquently considering the absurdity of the situation, “decide not to go down without a fair fight, of which I am to rightfully rise victoriously from; for I am not a coward, but an honorable man who chooses to stand by his actions despite what the law would think otherwise.” Once they reached the stoop of the sheriff’s office, Philip was permitted to stand up on a stair to continue. “May this day be always remembered as the day of which the outlaw gunslinger became the unexpected hero of a town that never respected nor acknowledged such an altruistic undertaking of which I achieved.” His eyes locked with Daniel’s. “I have some special friends, Daniel, and they’re coming for you!”
#phan#phanfiction#phan au#phan angst#platonic phan#phan historical#tw#one shot#the dialogue may not be 100% historically accurate but that's ok#no one cares about the amount of research that goes into fanfiction anyway#also could i like#stop writing about secrets and crime for once?
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5: Nice Catch!
The housekeeper had drawn the short straw on Sunday morning. It was 10am and thus time for the occupants of these motel rooms to vacate. She went through the motions as she pushed her cart of cleaning chemicals, rags, and motel room necessities (including a spice candle she liked to light to drive away any of the more pungent odors) down the row. Her ‘gold’ name tag that read Mary glimmered in the sunlight. Something out of the ordinary made her pause the music streaming from her cellphone. Room 126’s door was completely open. The sturdy door’s bronze chain clattered against it in the gentle breeze. She apprehensively peeked inside.
The room was as if no one had been in here at all. It was a total reset. The bed was neatly made. No wet towels on the floor. No suspicious tissues in the trash bin. Just nothing out of normal. Except that wasn’t totally true. She observed that the right hand side night stand drawer was open and its previous contents were missing.
John’s favorite shoes hit the pavement - one in front of the other - and very carefully inside the solid white line that separated him from thousands of pounds of steel repeatedly passing him. His blue gym bag swung too and fro from his side in rhythm to his steps. It had been three days since he had turned over the vehicle into the hands of Mike Maguire. She had told him that there was a motel about two miles from her shop and offered to call him a ride. He had declined in a polite fashion, left her his phone number, and departed on foot. He disappeared into the darkness and perhaps Mike wondered if she was suffering from a fever. From there, he went inwards. The book with no cover ended up being rather trite. A love story with very little love at all. He would have probably guessed that the cover was illustrated to show a man with long luxurious blonde locks and chiseled bare chest. Perhaps on a horse. There was a lot of allusions to animals in there - rutting like animals, it said. John closed the book and tossed it back into his bag with little thought.
On the second day of seclusion, someone who represented his employer, the mustached man, insisted that they were onto something. The previous session had netted over two million views and a whirlwind of positivity - ultimately they clamored for more. In the text message, he provided credentials for an official account and that he should just go live every once in a while and tell the world what he was thinking about. John didn’t understand why anyone would care but he wasn’t about to argue at this point.
Nothing came to him that day but on the third day, his mind opened up with something to share.
The shop’s sign was now just in view as he pressed the little F icon and then the button to go ‘live’. The picture from the phone’s camera jumped up and down as held it front of his face at arm’s length.
“Good morning all.”
A semi-truck whizzed past him - a little close for comfort. He danced sideways off of the pavement all while trying to maintain the shot.
“Maybe this isn’t very safe to do. Anyway, I am on my way to see you all and I wanted to make more of an effort to share myself.”
John stepped back onto the pavement and continued walking towards the shop. He had contemplated what just to say. John was listening to them. So far they said the same thing and as always it was a total character assassination. John had built the garden for that very purpose and as much as he liked to visit — there was only one way in.
“Combat sports are no doubt fueled by aggression and so it is no surprise that the overwhelming traits are anger and hatred for one’s fellow man. So I am sorry that a warrior feels the way that he does. I hope that he finds peace in his soul. What he said was meant to provoke a response. And so I ask everyone I am sharing this with now, what should I say? Should I dispute what he said? Should I jump to the defense of the other man in this equation?”
John shook his head.
“There really isn’t the need. There is only one thing I need to convince him of. He needs to ask himself what truly will be the intrinsic entertainment value of what could happen that night? Will the boredom seep through his body as both of his carotid arteries are compressed? What will his mind consider enjoyable as it goes through cerebral ischemia? And through that would he learn a great lesson: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
The corner of his mouth turned up into a brief smirk before returning to his normal … almost blank expression.
“Today and what it is — well that is not lost on me and I don’t want to waste any more of your time so I will leave you with this: A deer cannot eat hay. I found that interesting.”
John turned off the live feed and pocketed his phone. He quickly crossed the road and entered the parking lot of the auto body shop. He observed that the only car in the front lot was a loud yellow sports car. It had white fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. He had received a voicemail yesterday afternoon about the completion of a repair but hadn’t felt like communicating with anyone that day.
He pulled on the handle of the shop door and surprisingly it opened. He hadn’t noticed the other day the loud chime that was omitted throughout the shop when the door was opened and faintly he could hear the same noise echoing throughout the attached garage. He set his gym bag on the red plastic chair and waited patiently with his hands in his jeans pockets.
A voice cut through the silence, “Ay, we’re not open today. This an emergency?”
John thought about that for a moment and posed in a raised but still calm tone, “What really constitutes an emergency?”
“Oh, it’s you…”
A few moments passed. He could hear metal clanking and finally the owner of the shop entered the shop floor. She was not in uniform and instead wore the same baseball cap, a green and white jersey with the number 3 on it, a pair of oil-stained baggy jeans, and a pair of work boots.
How come you’re just comin’ in now? Messaged you yesterday.”
“Your door was open.”
“Yeah, that was my bad. Forgot to lock it after me.”
“I can come back tomorrow. I didn’t realize what day it was until a little while ago,” for John, time seemed to blur and it was difficult to understand that other people kept different schedules than him.
“Nah, you’re fine. Just wasn’t expectin’ much of a rush today, so I took the opportunity to just catch up on some stuff around here.”
John looked at her with a blank expression perhaps not understanding the ebb and flow of small talk, “I read a book this morning. I never really liked it before but his last message certainly was inspiring. He said to spread the good news to everyone and everywhere.”
The woman looked at him in a confused manner before smiling at him and then to the area where she kept all of the completed work orders. She looked back up at John as she found the clear folder with the order and keys, “Anywho. Your car’s all shipshape an’ seaworthy. Was about three hours work, so… seventy-five for the rim repair, same for a new tire, and ninety per hour for yours truly… I’ll call it an even four hundred. Just try to be more careful in the future, yeah? That coulda been a heckuva lot worse. Could’ve wrecked your axle, not to mention your whole suspension.”
John reached into the envelope and dumped the remaining contents of it onto the counter: 12 one dollar bills, 1 quarter, and three pennies. John looked at the funds and then back up at Mike. He guessed that the rest of his bonus had gone towards the motel room, “That’s, uh, what I have.”
“Well, I take credit, you know. You got a Visa? MasterCard? Anything like that?”
John held up one finger to Mike and then retrieved his wallet. He held it open. On the forefront, it contained only his recently issued New Mexico driver’s license. He slipped his fingers under the clear holder and retrieved a credit card.
“This card has credit for a free meal at Shoney’s. They burnt my toast last week. I think it’s only good for the one in Fort Myers.”
“Hmm,” She tapped her chin, a slightly wry smile slowly crossed her lips, “What were you doin’ out there?”
“Well, having breakfast.”
“At Shoney’s, yeah. But what else? Sure you didn’t go all the way down there just for toast an’ jam with Shoney Bear.”
“Oh, I started a new job. I haven’t officially got paid yet and I don’t know if I’m very good at it. They gave me that envelope a few days ago in Atlanta but I think they were handing them out to everyone.”
That wry smile grew just a bit bigger, a spark of recognition flashing in her eyes. “You, um, mind tellin’ me what that new job is? Just outta curiosity.”
“I fight people…” John said that quietly, “ … I have to be in Pittsburgh next. I’m a little early, sure, but I don’t mind,” at this point he started to talk himself as if the orange-haired woman was not there,“and they said I should open a bank account but I’m not sure that I would like that very much. It’s almost like it doesn’t exist. How can I trust 0s and 1s?”
“I thought so,” that wry smile turned into a bit of a warmer one, a kind smile that seemed both clashing and complementary to the woman’s rough exterior, “I think I know who you are. Saw you on the internet. That video was freakin’ great. And… heh. I used to fight people too. We got that much in common.”
He pointed at the picture above her.
“So that’s you?”
She gave a big fat grin. “Yep.”
“Cool,” John looked at the bill nervously, “So I don’t have any way to pay this but I signed a piece of paper and they have to give me more if I show up I think. I know this sounds lame but can I get an IOU?”he reached into the wallet and lifted out a pair of tickets stamped ‘Monday Night Brawl’ where the money would be, “oh, they gave me these. I don’t know why I got these because I’m going to be working there. Maybe if you show up I can pay you after its over.”
“Sweet! Okay, Mister Bishop Church, you got yourself a deal. But you better not try an’ welch on me. I got a punch that can lay out guys bigger than YOU,” she grinned playfully.
He slid the tickets over the counter. She grabbed them, looked at them intently, and slipped them in her back pocket.
“Your ride’s around back. I’ll go unlock the gate for ya.”
She fished out the keys from the clear folder and tossed the keys to John. He snatched them out of the air with one hand.
“Nice catch!”
He grabbed his gym bag from the chair and slung it over his shoulder.
And once again, John followed Mike out.
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5: Nice Catch!
The housekeeper had drawn the short straw on Sunday morning. It was 10am and thus time for the occupants of these motel rooms to vacate. She went through the motions as she pushed her cart of cleaning chemicals, rags, and motel room necessities (including a spice candle she liked to light to drive away any of the more pungent odors) down the row. Her ‘gold’ name tag that read Mary glimmered in the sunlight. Something out of the ordinary made her pause the music streaming from her cellphone. Room 126’s door was completely open. The sturdy door’s bronze chain clattered against it in the gentle breeze. She apprehensively peeked inside.
The room was as if no one had been in here at all. It was a total reset. The bed was neatly made. No wet towels on the floor. No suspicious tissues in the trash bin. Just nothing out of normal. Except that wasn’t totally true. She observed that the right hand side night stand drawer was open and its previous contents were missing.
John’s favorite shoes hit the pavement - one in front of the other - and very carefully inside the solid white line that separated him from thousands of pounds of steel repeatedly passing him. His blue gym bag swung too and fro from his side in rhythm to his steps. It had been three days since he had turned over the vehicle into the hands of Mike Maguire. She had told him that there was a motel about two miles from her shop and offered to call him a ride. He had declined in a polite fashion, left her his phone number, and departed on foot. He disappeared into the darkness and perhaps Mike wondered if she was suffering from a fever. From there, he went inwards. The book with no cover ended up being rather trite. A love story with very little love at all. He would have probably guessed that the cover was illustrated to show a man with long luxurious blonde locks and chiseled bare chest. Perhaps on a horse. There was a lot of allusions to animals in there - rutting like animals, it said. John closed the book and tossed it back into his bag with little thought.
On the second day of seclusion, someone who represented his employer, the mustached man, insisted that they were onto something. The previous session had netted over two million views and a whirlwind of positivity - ultimately they clamored for more. In the text message, he provided credentials for an official account and that he should just go live every once in a while and tell the world what he was thinking about. John didn’t understand why anyone would care but he wasn’t about to argue at this point.
Nothing came to him that day but on the third day, his mind opened up with something to share.
The shop’s sign was now just in view as he pressed the little F icon and then the button to go ‘live’. The picture from the phone’s camera jumped up and down as held it front of his face at arm’s length.
“Good morning all.”
A semi-truck whizzed past him - a little close for comfort. He danced sideways off of the pavement all while trying to maintain the shot.
“Maybe this isn’t very safe to do. Anyway, I am on my way to see you all and I wanted to make more of an effort to share myself.”
John stepped back onto the pavement and continued walking towards the shop. He had contemplated what just to say. John was listening to them. So far they said the same thing and as always it was a total character assassination. John had built the garden for that very purpose and as much as he liked to visit — there was only one way in.
“Combat sports are no doubt fueled by aggression and so it is no surprise that the overwhelming traits are anger and hatred for one’s fellow man. So I am sorry that a warrior feels the way that he does. I hope that he finds peace in his soul. What he said was meant to provoke a response. And so I ask everyone I am sharing this with now, what should I say? Should I dispute what he said? Should I jump to the defense of the other man in this equation?”
John shook his head.
“There really isn’t the need. There is only one thing I need to convince him of. He needs to ask himself what truly will be the intrinsic entertainment value of what could happen that night? Will the boredom seep through his body as both of his carotid arteries are compressed? What will his mind consider enjoyable as it goes through cerebral ischemia? And through that would he learn a great lesson: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
The corner of his mouth turned up into a brief smirk before returning to his normal … almost blank expression.
“Today and what it is — well that is not lost on me and I don’t want to waste any more of your time so I will leave you with this: A deer cannot eat hay. I found that interesting.”
John turned off the live feed and pocketed his phone. He quickly crossed the road and entered the parking lot of the auto body shop. He observed that the only car in the front lot was a loud yellow sports car. It had white fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. He had received a voicemail yesterday afternoon about the completion of a repair but hadn’t felt like communicating with anyone that day.
He pulled on the handle of the shop door and surprisingly it opened. He hadn’t noticed the other day the loud chime that was omitted throughout the shop when the door was opened and faintly he could hear the same noise echoing throughout the attached garage. He set his gym bag on the red plastic chair and waited patiently with his hands in his jeans pockets.
A voice cut through the silence, “Ay, we’re not open today. This an emergency?”
John thought about that for a moment and posed in a raised but still calm tone, “What really constitutes an emergency?”
“Oh, it’s you…”
A few moments passed. He could hear metal clanking and finally the owner of the shop entered the shop floor. She was not in uniform and instead wore the same baseball cap, a green and white jersey with the number 3 on it, a pair of oil-stained baggy jeans, and a pair of work boots.
How come you’re just comin’ in now? Messaged you yesterday.”
“Your door was open.”
“Yeah, that was my bad. Forgot to lock it after me.”
“I can come back tomorrow. I didn’t realize what day it was until a little while ago,” for John, time seemed to blur and it was difficult to understand that other people kept different schedules than him.
“Nah, you’re fine. Just wasn’t expectin’ much of a rush today, so I took the opportunity to just catch up on some stuff around here.”
John looked at her with a blank expression perhaps not understanding the ebb and flow of small talk, “I read a book this morning. I never really liked it before but his last message certainly was inspiring. He said to spread the good news to everyone and everywhere.”
The woman looked at him in a confused manner before smiling at him and then to the area where she kept all of the completed work orders. She looked back up at John as she found the clear folder with the order and keys, “Anywho. Your car’s all shipshape an’ seaworthy. Was about three hours work, so… seventy-five for the rim repair, same for a new tire, and ninety per hour for yours truly… I’ll call it an even four hundred. Just try to be more careful in the future, yeah? That coulda been a heckuva lot worse. Could’ve wrecked your axle, not to mention your whole suspension.”
John reached into the envelope and dumped the remaining contents of it onto the counter: 12 one dollar bills, 1 quarter, and three pennies. John looked at the funds and then back up at Mike. He guessed that the rest of his bonus had gone towards the motel room, “That’s, uh, what I have.”
“Well, I take credit, you know. You got a Visa? MasterCard? Anything like that?”
John held up one finger to Mike and then retrieved his wallet. He held it open. On the forefront, it contained only his recently issued New Mexico driver’s license. He slipped his fingers under the clear holder and retrieved a credit card.
“This card has credit for a free meal at Shoney’s. They burnt my toast last week. I think it’s only good for the one in Fort Myers.”
“Hmm,” She tapped her chin, a slightly wry smile slowly crossed her lips, “What were you doin’ out there?”
“Well, having breakfast.”
“At Shoney’s, yeah. But what else? Sure you didn’t go all the way down there just for toast an’ jam with Shoney Bear.”
“Oh, I started a new job. I haven’t officially got paid yet and I don’t know if I’m very good at it. They gave me that envelope a few days ago in Atlanta but I think they were handing them out to everyone.”
That wry smile grew just a bit bigger, a spark of recognition flashing in her eyes. “You, um, mind tellin’ me what that new job is? Just outta curiosity.”
“I fight people…” John said that quietly, “ … I have to be in Pittsburgh next. I’m a little early, sure, but I don’t mind,” at this point he started to talk himself as if the orange-haired woman was not there,“and they said I should open a bank account but I’m not sure that I would like that very much. It’s almost like it doesn’t exist. How can I trust 0s and 1s?”
“I thought so,” that wry smile turned into a bit of a warmer one, a kind smile that seemed both clashing and complementary to the woman’s rough exterior, “I think I know who you are. Saw you on the internet. That video was freakin’ great. And… heh. I used to fight people too. We got that much in common.”
He pointed at the picture above her.
“So that’s you?”
She gave a big fat grin. “Yep.”
“Cool,” John looked at the bill nervously, “So I don’t have any way to pay this but I signed a piece of paper and they have to give me more if I show up I think. I know this sounds lame but can I get an IOU?”he reached into the wallet and lifted out a pair of tickets stamped ‘Monday Night Brawl’ where the money would be, “oh, they gave me these. I don’t know why I got these because I’m going to be working there. Maybe if you show up I can pay you after its over.”
“Sweet! Okay, Mister Bishop Church, you got yourself a deal. But you better not try an’ welch on me. I got a punch that can lay out guys bigger than YOU,” she grinned playfully.
He slid the tickets over the counter. She grabbed them, looked at them intently, and slipped them in her back pocket.
“Your ride’s around back. I’ll go unlock the gate for ya.”
She fished out the keys from the clear folder and tossed the keys to John. He snatched them out of the air with one hand.
“Nice catch!”
He grabbed his gym bag from the chair and slung it over his shoulder.
And once again, John followed Mike out.
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