The Finale

(This one goes to Matt. I told you I'd write you one.)

 

I stepped into that circle of dust and sand and beheld the opponents. There were five of us including myself.

We all acknowledged the fear in everyone's eyes. The sweat on our brows was not from the heat but from our anxiety. You could tell the difference in anxiety sweats. Because you feel cold. Cold like the winter back home in that forgotten planet. I think the place was Greenland, but the sun has whipped my memory. But I felt the cold and I swear to God they were cold too.

For we were surrounded by graves of all sorts. The revolution victims. The unfortunate prey of the plague. Those sucked dry by the outstanding heat.

And we knew all of us would be joining them today. All except one. This was not a game of strength or speed. The harsh lands have extracted those things from our bodies. The only thing left we could rely on is luck. And none of us felt very lucky.

Today we gathered here by some miraculous coincidence. It was a race to this place. The circle. For in the middle sat a chest. Placed by God himself they say. Or perhaps Satan. All five of us had raced here. Oblivious to each others existence until now. We all wanted that chest. And either God or Satan had thought it would be humorous if we all happened to arrive here at the same….exact….time.

We were men of sorrow. For no particular reason (I can say that for us all). Our minds couldn't grasp the happiness. Slut wives. Alcohol. Bereavement. We were the weaklings who could not overcome. And so the legends began. The chest placed by God (or Satan!) would answer our problems. That's what I heard…and I went for it. Followed the directions given by that crazy man who told me the tale. Head east toward the Zion Mountain Range. Climb over those. You'll find a valley. In three days time you will cross it. Swim across the stream at the end of this valley. And you'll find desert. Walk east continually. You will find it. A graveyard. And in the middle is a large circle. There is your answer. There you will find peace. God put it there for you my boy.

I now felt that sense of foolishness like the naïve boy who believed petting a sleeping bear's ears would keep it asleep allowing you to pass. Only to realize it doesn't work and the bear mauls your face off. How many people must have heard this tale? Apparently at least four others. And here I stood. On the right lower corner of the star we had instinctively formed in the circle. The left lower corner was a fat man. His gut nearly bursting the white buttoned shirt he wore. The sleeves rolled to his elbows.

The left hand of the star was a man with piercing blue eyes. Dark hair. And a whiskey bottle hanging by leather string over his shoulder.

The right hand was dirty person (exceeding the expected "dirty" of us travelers) with no leg. Leaning on a crouch. Gun in hand. It trembled in fear.

And the tip of the star was a short blond kid. No older than 17. What could he have needed this prize for?

If you must know I was (like mentioned earlier) the lower right corner and I guess I could say I was a pale man (regardless of the tanning effect). My mustache now grown in from the months of traveling. And I am so thankful that my dear mother (bless her soul) had given me a clean cut two months before my journey. A month afterwards she was kicked by a mad horse. Her old body couldn't take that punishment. The short hair (that has grown a few inches over this time) gave me great vision of the men.

I had come to the decision after those aching moments that I would come out a winner no matter the future. If I was shot right here, so be it. If not, the chest was mine.

We knew the routine. All of us shook away the confusion of running into each other and drew our pistols. Showdown. Ha!

This old buddy has survived much abuse over the harsh ages. My old grandmother used this weapon to shoot off the prairie dogs stealing her strawberries. Now I will shoot off the prairie dogs stealing my prize.

How do you have a shootout with five damned people? I thought to myself. We would have to work together to kill each other. One shoots the other until hopefully one stands at the end. That is unless we all shoot the person to our right or left and everyone fucking dies.

Bam! The ring of ricochet burst off the tombstones. The idiot missed. The boy at the top of the star had fired and fucking missed me! Shocked, we all open fired on him. One down.

Two men fired and killed each other. It was hilarious. It was a shame I could not enjoy the humor because it was me and the guy on the right hand. The guy on the crouch. Damn guilt trip. I couldn't shoot the poor guy. But he could sure as hell shoot me. No pity.

Bam! No ricochet because the bullet entered flesh. His flesh. The crouch flew from his grasp and he fell.

Loss of words. When you win a game of chance it leaves you empty and speechless. Not even happy.

Sighing I decided to wipe remorse from the plate and claim my reward. The chest was black and had silver metallic binding. There was no lock. Surely it was Satan's work.

It slid open with such ease like it weighed nothing. The inside was lined with velvet like material. After opening the chest was the only time I experienced maniacal laughter and weeping simultaneously.

There sat on the bottom of that velvet chest, a revolver. One golden shell lying next to it. Now I was only crying.

"Talk about peace…"

Bam!

 

-Jake T. Edmunds

 

This was inspired by The Good the Bad and the Ugly if you hadn't noticed. But uh…hope you like it. Give me some feedback. Umm….btw I'm gonna write a story for everyone. This one is for Matt (Feher) and expect one to be written for you (Miranda, Jon, Derrick, Kayla) soon.

This will also be my submission for The Overlook intro.

-Jake