|
A Story Inspired by Red-Dead Redemption |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dead-Eye Darrell chewed his tobacco slowly, analyzing the situation he was in. What a pickle! All he’d been doing was riding along on his faithful steed Tumbleweed, minding his own business, looting a couple houses here and there, with the occasional gunfight, and now here he was, surrounded by the county sheriff, his deputy, and five other men from the local town of Outlaw Outpost. Apparently, what he’d been doing was illegal.
Tilting his hat down low so that only his crooked nose could be seen, he mustered up all the saliva in his esophagus and hocked a huge one by Sheriff Samuel’s feet. “Now look here fellas, I done enough bad things today. Don’t make your seven deaths another thing I have to ask for forgiveness from Jesus for.”
Although tales have been spread throughout the west of Sheriff Samuel’s bravery and greatness, he was, in actuality, a short and stocky man with quite the beer belly. The only feature worthy of applause was his giant handlebar mustache; like a brown, furry caterpillar, it crawled across his upper lip to hang low on both sides beneath his jaw line.
Truth be told, it was his deputy, Don’t-Mess-With-Me Daniels, who was both the brains and the brawn of the bunch. His cunning and ruthlessness was what had lead to the capture of five of the worst criminals around. And in a tiny corner of Darrell’s heart, he feared him. Feared him because he knew what he was capable of.
“Stop lying to yourself, Dead-Eye Darrell.” The deputy spit the cowboy’s name out like a disease. “We ain’t afraid of you. You think you’re so special, prancing around on your pretty pony. Well, come back to earth and see that every action has a consequence. And yours, scoundrel, is lifetime in a jail cell.”
Throughout Daniels’ speech, Samuel nodded his head vigorously, his stache bouncing up and down. Though his partner had no qualms about apprehending the rogue, the sheriff was absolutely terrified. (Sheriff Samuel was known as a notorious bed-wetter)
With a graceful move totally uncharacteristic of the gruff and grimy desperado, Dead-Eye Darrell descended from his horse Tumbleweed. “Think twice before you threaten me, Daniels,” he said with the same venom as the deputy. “The law has no hold over me. I am my own man; religion, government, country and all.”
Deputy Daniels stared him down, eyes as cold and piercing as icicles. “You may think that, but you live in America, whether you want to or not. Every human being has as much right on this planet as you do. In fact, considering that you are probably the slimiest, dirtiest, lying son of a b***h I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across, they have more right then you.” Having said that, he launched a mighty powerful spit across the distance between the two men; it landed smack-dab in the middle of Dead-Eye Darrell’s forehead.
Darrell, his eyes as fiery and burning red as Daniels’ were icy, methodically rubbed his forearm over his face. “You will pay for that. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I will get you deputy, know that in the very deepest, darkest parts of your soul.”
By now, Sheriff Samuel was getting jittery, the ends of his mustache quivering, his eyes darting back and forth between his partner and the bandit. “Come on fellas, no need to be upset, a little spit never hurt nobody! In fact, my mother was just telling me, spit’s good for your skin! It contains several nutritious vitamins and minerals that help exfoliate and cleanse it! Why, I expect, in a couple years, we’ll all be bathing in our own spit-”
With enough volume to frighten an elephant, Dead-Eye Darrel and Deputy Don’t-Mess-With-Me Daniels shouted simultaneously, “Shut up, Samuel!”
Obviously even more frightened than he was before, the sheriff retreated back a few steps, mumbling to himself. “Oh, wait till my momma hears about this… Why, if she were here right now, she’d tell me what to do. She’d tell me to stand up for myself. She’d say, ‘Samuel Percival Winston Hugo Smith, I raised you better than this! Now be a man!’ Hm, righty-oh! Let me just…” Sheriff Samuel’s voice trailed off as he finally realized what was unfolding right before him.
The deputy and the outlaw were inches from each other, both drawing themselves up to their full height. Neither intimidated their adversary though; the two enemies were evenly matched. For all Darrell was spirited and fierce, Daniels was cool-thinking and logical. Samuel began to chew on his fingernails, (A habit his mother had worked so hard on making him quit) both nervous and eager for the fight.
“Alright, here’s how it’s going down,” Deputy Daniels hissed. “We turn, take 10 paces, then at the call of one of my men, draw and shoot. We aim to kill.”
“You mean I aim to kill, because you’re the one that’s going to be lying dead at my feet when this is all over.” Darrell growled.
“Oh, this is so exciting!” the sheriff bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, his glorious mustache and bulging belly jiggling all over.
Ignoring him, the two opponents gave one another one last glare before turning their backs on each other. “By my count!” Daniels called out, then began counting off the steps. “One, two, three…”
“Don’t you think this is thrilling? I mean, someone is going to die!” It seemed that Sheriff Samuel’s cowardice had disappeared now that his own life was out of danger. The prospect that he was out of the line of fire and someone else was taking the bullet made the whole affair become fun and games for him. One could easily imagine the sheriff with a bag of popcorn in his greasy, fat fingers, chewing hungrily while watching the spectacle in front of him like a movie.
Meanwhile, Dead-Eye Darrell and Don’t-Mess-With-Me Daniels waited with baited breath for the signal, fingers hovering ever so close to their holsters. Although they were trying to focus on their either eminent peril or victory, as hard as they tried, they couldn’t block out the whiny voice of the sheriff. Then one of the deputy’s men, Salty Steve, called out those five words.
“Ready! On my mark! Draw!”
The moment had come, cowboy versus deputy, criminal versus the law! The suspense must be killing you!
But still Sheriff Samuel was babbling away. Each man had pulled their guns out lightening fast, but hesitated before shooting. Exchanging a knowing glance, (The two men were more alike then you would think) they both changed their targets…
…and they never had to hear another words about Sheriff Samuel’s mother again.
 Candysweets8981 · Sat Apr 30, 2011 @ 03:14am · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
|
The National Wizard’s Convention was a huge deal. Some of the most powerful sorcerers, warlocks, and witches from all across the universe attended. The keynote speaker for this year’s gathering was Saruman.
A tall, old man in the audience chuckled and twirled his knee-length gray beard around his fingers. “Ah, now he was a tricky little bugger to defeat!”
The fellow sitting next to him laughed right out. “You think that he was a problem? Try fighting for over 17 years against the most evil man alive, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! I’m pretty sure that Lord Voldemort beats Saruman any day.” He said this with a twinkle in his eye, half-moon spectacles perched delicately on his long nose.
The first man snorted. “17 years? Try centuries of trying to recover a ring of ancient and evil powers and journeying all across the land to a volcano guarded by thousands of the nastiest orcs! Your life has been an easy ride compared to mine.”
Pulling out a pouch from within his cloak, the second man retorted, “Yes, I’m sure your life was hard, smoking with those hairy midgets you call hobbits… such uncivilized folk.” Having said this, he drew a jellybean from the bag and popped it into his mouth.
The man with the gray beard twisted in his chair to face the person who objected to him. “And who do you think you are? For I am Gandalf the White Wizard of Middle Earth, formerly Gandalf the Grey.”
“Yes, and I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards. My name is longer. I win.” He stroked his snow-white beard and turned back to the speaker.
Gandalf’s mouth dropped open as a stared dumbstruck at the one man who had ever mocked him so openly (besides Saruman, but he had obviously been taught his lesson). “Do you want to talk to me about winning, old man? I happen to recall that you were defeated by one of Voldemort’s servants. Also, I manage to remember that I didn’t die battling anything in Middle Earth! You were killed by a man. How horrible it must have been.”
Dumbledore froze, appalled. How dare this man question his motives of sacrificing himself to Snape? “I’ll have you know, that because I allowed myself to be killed, my student and protégée, Harry Potter, was able to destroy Lord Voldemort. And what’s that about not dying? What about the Balrog?”
Laughing grimly, he replied, “I fell through the core of Middle Earth, battling that monstrous creature all the way down. Finally, I managed to kill the beast, and returned to the surface of our world as the White Wizard, no longer grey, and defeated that miserable man up there.” He gestured with a long arm up at the podium, where Saruman had noticed his arguing listeners. The speaker gulped visibly, with sweat pouring down his neck and forehead, obviously worrying about losing his audience.
“I win.”
A fire lit up Dumbledore’s eyes that would send even the most fearsome evil-doer cowering back to his mother. “You insult me for the last time Gandalf! By the rights of all wizards in the universe, I challenge you to a duel!” The Headmaster of Hogwarts rose to his feet and drew his wand, pointed precisely at the other wizard’s throat.
Elegantly, Gandalf arose from his chair and swept it aside with his staff. “Prepare to meet your doom, Dumbledore! Who name’s their child Dumb-Door anyway? Your poor parents’ sanity must have been fleeting when you were born.” Like his adversary, he pointed his weapon at his opponent’s jugular.
With a roar, the professor brandished his wand. “You may insult me, but you will never live to insult my parents again! Pantaloneus Poopicus!”
Gandalf batted the curse away with staff. “Oh yeah? Well take this! Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!” And with a lunge, he swept Dumbledore off his feet.
Anger coursed through the wizened man. He leapt back up and charged Gandalf, shooting curses and hexes out of his wand at an alarming speed. “You want to play dirty old man? Well eat my dragon-hide shorts!”
Proving himself to be very nimble for a wizard his age, the White Wizard dodged everything Dumbledore could throw at him. As his enemy drew nearer, Gandalf swung his staff with all his might, calling on all his strength… And nailed Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore square in the temple. The once-great Headmaster crumpled to the floor, his Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored beans clutched in his grasp.
Thus proving that in the age old debate of Gandalf vs. Dumbledore, the White Wizard conquers all.
Candysweets8981 · Fri Apr 29, 2011 @ 05:13am · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
