Flynn Jackman (sharpdraw) wrote in burn_town, @ 2011-11-04 16:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | fastest gun in the west, outlaw |
Beneath her silent stone she laid
The gravestones looked like rotten teeth and with the mountains beyond, it looked as if the world was one big gaping maw, gulping down whatever it could get. Swallowed within was the lifeless body of his murdered wife.
All he could think about was her soft round face, remembered her honking silly laugh and longed for her warmth all wrapped up in his arms.
A crow cawed and brought the gunslinger back from his silent reverie…his gentle thoughts were dismissed from his mind when the cold hand of winter passed bitter through this dreary autumn day and stuck its chilled fingers down under his collar. He did not fidget, he did not adjust his jacket, he just suffered through the ill wind while holding the last of the seasonal flowers he’d stopped to pick along the way.
He was grabbing on to the stems so tight that the flowers seemed strangled when he set the bunch down over where she lay. She was so young. Even now, in the ground 6 years today, the bones and decay that stayed in the ground was so young compared to the things around them. It was still difficult to believe she was no longer alive. Coming here didn’t bother him, but the fact that she was dead haunted his every waking moment. It didn’t matter in what part of the world he stood. He couldn’t forget the day his brother shot his wife.
Logan had shot her in the back of the head. The absolute look of emptiness in his brother's eyes after he’d killed her had set fire and burned down anything about Logan that he could ever love. As far as he was concerned his brother was a ruin. His life had been destroyed. Flynn's hatred was ablaze. It continued to burn hot all these years.
“I love you…”he whispered to the wind. He wanted to believe in heaven but he couldn’t believe that any godly creature could make and then destroy anyone as perfect as Lily Ann He knew she would never hear his declaration but maybe hope made him free up the sentiment.
“Flynn.” The grizzled voice shouted from the hill above him, “we gotta move out.”
Flynn didn’t answer. He wasn’t done yet. He was only ever where he needed to be and right now he needed to be here. He squatted down, brushed off the dust and dirt that had accumulated on her grave stone throughout the year. His fingers lingered on the cold granite and stroked down until his finger dipped into the carving and traced the epitaph: