I found this finished novel in My Documents from, like, year ago. I read the first chapter and decided I could work this thing up again. Here's the first part of chapter 1. I don't want to make the post too long and scare people, lol. This first part ends horribly, but that's only because there's no good place in the middle of the chapter to break. Don't comment on the abrupt ending, please.
Oh, and title suggestions would be nice. throughout the reviews. ^_^ Enjoy!
Chapter 1
He was the best sharpshooter in the country, yet no one knew who he was. Every boy had hopes of shooting just like he, being just as sneaky, just as strong and agile, just as cool. Every girl dreamed of meeting him, of being swept off her feet by the one and only, falling in love with the bravest man of all times. Yet no one knew who he was.
He was called the King. No one knew where the name came from, how it was thought up, why it was given to him, but it was appropriate, so it stuck. He was the King of kings, the Lord of lords, the Sheriff of sheriffs, the Bravest of the brave.
I dreamt of the King, dreamt of having such skills as he. The legends always intrigued me, how he was so skilled. I always wondered if the King was real, however. I have heard how he saved countless people, how he showed up to shoot the bad guy then run away to hide himself once again; yes, I wondered if he really existed.
My father was the sheriff of our small town of Ranger, looked upon with such respect from its people. Sheriff Beauregard Locksley was, sure enough, the best around these parts. No one expected the legendary King to show up at this small town—a town with a population of fifty-four. He had better cities to save. Besides, my father was skillful enough to defend the little people here.
His deputy, Deputy Luke Woods, was a funny man. I always enjoyed being with him when visiting my father’s office. He was a tall man with brown hair hidden under his black cowboy hat, a single golden cord wrapped around on top. He wore round glasses on his nose and his uniform was of black from waist down and a blue shirt on top. He wore a badge on his shirt, though not as splendid on my father’s.
Luke Woods enjoyed his job as deputy of my father. He greeted everyone in Ranger with a hearty hello, a tip of the hat, and a funny, yet friendly, smile on his face. He was loved by everyone of the town, considered a friend by every resident. I noticed this when I was ten years of age.
My father did not receive such welcome. When he walked down the road and someone greeted him, he would only grunt and move on. When there was a fight in the bar, he would only shoot his gun to the ceiling and let the men leave, claiming it to be a misunderstanding. When a lady was in trouble, he would only pull the man away and shove him down the road, saying ‘better luck next time, lover boy.’ Yet he wore the badge of a sheriff and, therefore, no one could do anything about him.
The mayor of our city, Ms. Abigail Clark, never paid much mind to this. To tell the honest to God truth, I didn’t think she cared. The only thing she cared about, I noticed, was her money and my father. She was a beautiful woman with shiny brown hair and wore the most stylish of clothes as well as heels everyday and red lipstick on her lips to match her blush. It sickened me.
My father, however, fell for her every whim. My mother died at childbirth, so he was a widower, a bachelor once again. I didn’t want him to remarry, however. Every woman I saw was a friend, nothing more. I could never give her a hug good-bye when moving out, could never take orders from her when doing chores. If anyone, Ms. Clark would be the last of them to marry.
She was young, as young as twenty, while my father was thirty-three. I was thirteen when I noticed something between the two. I started staying away from my father, sticking to Deputy Luke until I felt ready to confront my father about her. I knew a pretty lady like her could not be good news, especially for my father.
I had a close friend while growing up, besides Deputy Luke. Booker Davis was my friend throughout the years. He was a black man, tall and burly, strong for those of his age. I was white, tall, but not as tall as he, dark hair, and agile. I was fast and tricky, for my hero was the King.
Book and I would always ride out on horseback, playing cowboys. We always pretended one was the thief, the other the sheriff. I was usually the sheriff for I knew how they worked, how they caught the bad guys. Book was always the thief, for anyone could commit a crime. The only difference is how it’s committed, and Book was very creative.
One day as we sat in the saloon, drinking with Deputy Luke on his break, the conversation went to the King. How excited I was to talk of him! Deputy Luke had another legend to tell us and I was all for it, full attention drawn to him.
“Well, Boston Shoemaker, a boun’y hunter of sorts, was ridin’ his horse down the dusty road,” Deputy Luke said though his southern accent. “He was chasin’, chasin’ after his target, a thief who stole from the Centra’ Bank of the city of Shamrock, the Big City, right? Anyway, Shoemaker was gainin’ on ‘im, followin’ ‘im off the road and into the surroundin’ trees. That was when he was trapped! He was suddenly surrounded by three guys, two of them appearin’ out of no where.”
Book and I sat on the edge of our seats as he told the tale, awaiting the next scene to be told. “Well, Shoemaker could easily take on two, but the thief held a gun in ‘is hand, pointin’ at Shoemaker. He was trapped, had no where to go, until the thief looked away at the sound of rustlin’ leaves among the trees near and above.
“Shoemaker took ‘is chance. He fought the two men, knocked ‘em to the ground with punches and kicks ‘til they were bruised ‘n’ unconscious. He turned to the thief, but he raised his gun again, threatenin’ to shoot. They stood there for a long time. Then the thief started backing away to make ‘is escape. Shoemaker was just thinkin’ up a plan to catch ‘im again when there was a gunshot and the thief landed, face firs’, into the ground. He didn’ move at all.
“Shoemaker looked up ta see who shot the bulle’, but all he saw was a black shadow fleeing from the scene. Shoemaker looked at the thief. He wasn’ dead, but was severely wounded and could be saved by the doctors. An’ that, my friends, is yet another save by the King, another guy shot, ye’ not dead, a man named Boston Shoemaker who became five hundred dollars richer.”
I asked him questions about the King’s shot. How far away was he? How close to the heart was it? Was it an accident to not kill him or did he want him to live? This last question I knew the answer to. He wanted the thief to live. I supposed he did not like killing people, did not believe in murder.
--------------------------------------------------------------
This is only the first part of it, so it ends awkwardly. However, the second part is ready to post when and if ya'll want it. ^_^
.
Gender:
Points: 83957
Reviews: 1464