This is just the first segment (there's like twelve) of an unfinished short story. Right now, there's not much to 'R' it other than language, but it will get pretty violent and rapey later on. It's about brothers. Here you go. Please, please, please crit me! I promise I won't complain if you don't like it.
The stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. He had lived in Creeksview for years; it’s just that nobody remembered him. Hell, he didn’t remember. The only memories he had of the place were the ones involving her, and his brother, and old Two-Gun Howie all those years ago. Everything else was a blur. Nobody found it strange to see him walking the town, though. Creeksview was a small place, but a lot of wandering travelers seemed to pass through, especially after the war, when so many people had nowhere to go home to other than the cold road and the warm beds of kind enough hosts. To them, he was just another face they’d never get to see again.
So the stranger strolled around the town, and looked everyone in the eyes. And smiled his crooked smile, and croaked “Howdy,” to all the ladies, and his skin was toasted under the burning sun, and his clothes were old and his stand was weak. He was carrying guns. Two of them. Nobody seemed to mind. He had a quiet drink in the tavern, bought some fun with a whore, and then asked where Melinda Kenning was buried. At noon, he walked to the lonely grave and prayed. Some say he cried, which was unlikely. The stranger never cried. Others said he just laid some flowers in the ground for her, and then left. The sun was setting, right about then.
A day had passed. He needed a place to sleep.
He had a man to kill.
1859: The blood damped the ground around her head. She wasn’t moving anymore. Her blondish mane was painted red, and Foster snickered as he watched dozens of ants rushing towards her, smelling a banquet. One on top of another, the insects bathed in scarlet, trying to work their way past the blood, crushing each other to get to the body. Foster holstered his gun. He was distracted by the screaming:
“Wait!” Red Peckinpah yelled out, trotting behind his brother. “Jesus, Jonah, just wait a second, alright? Wait!”
“Go to hell, Red! Why’d you have to do that, huh?” Jonah rushed through the colorless plains. He didn’t know where he was going. In fact, there’s nowhere to go in the middle of the desert. He just wanted to get away. He felt his brother grab his elbow, trying to get him to stop moving, but Jonah shrugged his hand away, and screamed: “She didn’t do nothing!”
Foster kicked the body, just for the sake of it. Nothing happened. The bandit chuckled, and scratched his half grown beard. His freckles seemed to be drowning under the sweat oozing from his pale skin, and his reddish hair was greasy, and dark. “Well, she’s dead,” he called out. The desert around them was endless, and immaculate. The horses, waiting for them a few meters from the body were getting impatient, trying to huff away the flies that buzzed around their noses. The law was probably on their trail, already. They were wasting their time. “I said she’s definitely dead, so I reckon that’s that.”
Jonah stopped moving, and turned around. Red licked the side of his lips, trying to catch his breath. Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Jonah just stared at his brother, and then at the corpse, and then at Foster again. Infuriated, he started to walk towards the latter. Red blocked his path.
“What the hell did she do? Huh! What the hell did she do for you to shoot her like that, Dave? What in the fuck did she do?” Jonah was trying to tear his brother out of the way, an invisible cloud of saliva following his every word, fire in his eyes, his face red with anger and impotence.
Dave Foster sighed, taking some tobacco out of his pocket. Looking away from Jonah’s accusing eyes, he cut up a piece and placed it in his mouth. The bitter flavor pleased him. The two brothers were still going at it.
“Settle down, damn it!” Red took a hold of Jonah’s neck, and pushed his brother away. Jonah groaned and lunged towards him again. Red raised his elbow, and hit Jonah in the neck, taking his breath away. Without a word, he locked Jonah’s head between his arms. Jonah muffled a scream, trying to get out of his brother’s hold. He was sobbing now. “Come on, Jonah! He had to do it, alright? He had to do it.” Red was whispering now, trying to smooth him down a bit. Little by little, he eased his brother out of his lock. “They would’ve followed us, kid. Come on, now. He had to do it. You know that.”
“No! No, he didn’t have to…!” Jonah slipped his head out of his brother’s hold, and took a few steps backwards. He rubbed the tears out of his face with the sleeve of his dirty coat. “They wouldn’t have followed… We could’ve—”
“Yes, they would’ve. Come on. That girl there was the governor’s daughter. We took her with us, they would’ve chased our asses down to Mexico. You know that. Don’t you know that?”
Jonah sniffed and pointed at Foster, scornfully. Then he began, almost with a whisper: “But she didn’t have to die the way she did, Red. We could’ve let her go. We could’ve just left her here, but he didn’t have to shoot her!”
Red slapped him in the face, gently. “He only did what I told him to do, Jonah.”
“Yeah, but she didn’t do nothing, though. Did she? She didn’t do nothing for him to shoot her like that. I mean, she didn’t move, or nothing!”
Red shook his head, not knowing what to say. Behind him, Foster’s boots shackled as he walked towards the two of them:
“Well, I’m a mean cat.”
Red closed his eyes, cursing his lack of tact. “Shut the fuck up, Davie!” he shrieked, clenching his fists. Foster cleared his throat, embarrassed.
Jonah’s tears were turning black, washing away the dirt in muddied face. He sniffed again, and cleaned the brownish water out of his cheeks. He was shaking his head now, with his hands in his pockets, a bit more calmed. He cleared his throat, and without saying anything he started to walk towards Foster, his feet sliding across the rough sand. He seemed weary. He had always been a tall man, but now his back was curved, and his legs were thinner than ever. Like they couldn’t possibly hold the rest of his body. The old coat he was wearing was like a tail, sliding behind him everywhere he went, and the guns he was carrying seemed to heavy for him to even hold. Red Peckinpah stood in front of his brother, but Jonah just moved him out of the way, gently, and tapped his shoulder.
“Alright. I’m calmed. I won’t do anything to him,” he assured him, before turning his head towards the red-haired prick. “I guess you must feel like you’re a big man, right? The boss? Right? I mean, I reckon you feel like you’re some big-shot. Dave Foster, the meanest man alive. Am I right?”
“Red, will you tell your sister to calm himself down?”
“No, but I’m calmed. I mean, all I’m saying is that it’s a pretty mannish thing you did back there, shooting that girl the way you did. You must be real proud. I mean, you should be proud. Shouldn’t he be proud, Red?”
“Jonah, let’s just get the horses and leave.”
“You’re scum, Davie. You’re not even a fucking human being, alright? You’re… You’re the lowest of the low, David. You just don’t understand that. You thing this makes you a man? You think what you did back there makes you a man, some sort of hero?”
“Come on, Jonah. Will you stop?” Red pleaded, from afar.
“No— I’m just asking him. Does this sort of thing get his juice going, I mean, I reckon this thing has got to make you feel alive or something? Because you seem to enjoy killing the fuckers, don’t you?”
“Just get the hell out of my face, Jonah. I mean it.”
“You gonna shoot me, too? Hell, I’d be honored to be killed by you! The famous Dave Foster! Yeah— Killer of women and children!”
Foster didn’t flinch. Jonah moved his hand closer to his waist. They were looking each other straight in the eye.
“God damn it, Jonah! Let’s get on the horses, and leave!” Red yelled out, impatient. His brother didn’t move. Foster’s face was inches away from his. “Will you stop? Huh? Davie, let’s just go! What in the hell are you doing? You gonna shoot my brother? Step away, and let’s go.”
Foster chuckled and took a step backwards. Then another. Then he turned around, and walked away. Jonah had his hand on his gun. He felt the smooth leather of the holster, and then rough iron of the revolver. He thought about doing it. He thought about shooting Dave in the back, but couldn’t bring himself to take the weapon out. He tried to think about the young girl, her beautiful golden locks, and her pretty blue dress, stained now, her kind smile. Red walked past him.
This time, Jonah wouldn’t follow.
