Paco Valdez
EJ
Most respectable folk have a natural disdain for the "uncivilized and savage" natives of the land. But most respectable folk aren't exactly respectable in your book. And 'civilized' is more of a relative term than anything else.
You learned long ago that these native people of America are no different than any other man or woman on God's earth. Not all of them are bad, not all of them are good. They're just human. And what they may lack in Europeanized social etiquette and force-fed religion, they more than make up for with an intimate knowledge of the land and it's many denizens and plant life. And they're spirituality is just as fierce as any Christian zealot's. What's more, earning their friendship is much better than deserving their anger and hatred. At least for one in your humble boots. This is still their land, though it's rapidly being taken away from them, day by day.
"Let's go to the village," you reply at length, gazing out at the multi-hued sunrise that paints the desert and the sky in it's living rays. "It's worth the risk." It's small moments like these that make life worth living; something as simple as a sunrise in the desert. It's such a pure thing, no matter how crazy everything else may be. And it's funny how people are, even those as self-reliant as Gus and Annie. When it comes down to hard decisions at a moment's notice, it seems you're always the one to make the call. It's a double-edged sword - if your decision ends up being the right one, you're the who ends up with all the glory. But if it's a wrong choice, no matter how willingly the others followed, you're the one who pays the ultimate price. It's your lot in life, you suppose. Annie peers at you inquisitively. "What're you ponderin' on there?"
You shrug. "The sunrise," you say, "It's what keeps me sane, Annie." Gus stifles a laugh unsuccessfully. Annie just smirks. "There you go gettin' all poetical on us," she says smugly.
You glare at her. "You know I hate poetry, Annie." "Then stop getting all emotional everytime you see a damn sunrise or a butterfly flappin' it's damn wings!" Gus chimes in.
"Dammit, Gus, that's a bunch of shit," you rebuff him. "I've seen yer old mangy ass get more emotional o'er a batch of good whiskey than a birthin' mother regardin' her child for the first time!" While deep down inside you only trust Gus and Annie as far as you can throw them, you know there's a shred of real humanity in them. They're good partners, in crime, and this is how things usually are. You have a feeling they might just forgive you for your sexual indiscretion back there in Fullton. Only time will tell.
Late morning is upon before you know it, and the three of you stop for a short breath at a small creek. While your horses quench their thirst and feed their constant appetites with grasses, flowers, and shrubs that grow abundantly along the creek bed, you and your fellow conspirators take a moment to stretch, enjoy a pot of coffee and a cigarette or two. Gus looks around suspiciously. "You sure it's safe to take a break!?" he inquires of Annie worriedly.
"You fuckin' stupid all a' sudden, Gus?" Annie fires back. "Of course it's safe, for now! You think I'd be lettin' your old-ass take breaks for no reason!?" Gus mutters something vulgar under his breath but reluctantly concedes to Annie's intuitions, as usual. He busies himself over in the bushes to your left. The poor guy always seems to have a wicked case of the shits.
Annie, meanwhile, decides to begin the preparation for a small breakfast. That's the thing about Annie; she aint afraid to admit that she is a woman. She'd still rather eat her own cooking than yours or Gus's any day of the week. She's still a woman, no matter how rough around the edges she may be. And a real woman is worth more than her weight in gold. You decide that this is an opportune moment to take a short walk into the pine forest up the hill that towers above the creek to see if you can see a little ahead.
"Keep an eye out up there!" Annie shouts as you make your ascent. "You just make sure you don't burn my bacon this time, woman!" you shout back. There's no answer. Dammit. Now you're stuck wondering if she heard you or if she's ignoring you. You almost say it again in case she didn't hear, but decide that it's better for her to have not heard it once than to hear the same joke that didn't get laughs a second time.
You eventually reach the top of the small hill that dominates the landscape for a few miles around and settle down upon a small outcropping of rocks with a single pine tree that stubbornly grows there, against all odds. You've only just entered a single small entry into your journal when you hear a most ominous sound, a soft rattling sound that sends shivers down your spine.
« Go Back Most respectable folk have a natural disdain for the "uncivilized and savage" natives of the land. But most respectable folk aren't exactly respectable in your book. And 'civilized' is more of a relative term than anything else.
You learned long ago that these native people of America are no different than any other man or woman on God's earth. Not all of them are bad, not all of them are good. They're just human. And what they may lack in Europeanized social etiquette and force-fed religion, they more than make up for with an intimate knowledge of the land and it's many denizens and plant life. And they're spirituality is just as fierce as any Christian zealot's. What's more, earning their friendship is much better than deserving their anger and hatred. At least for one in your humble boots. This is still their land, though it's rapidly being taken away from them, day by day.
"Let's go to the village," you reply at length, gazing out at the multi-hued sunrise that paints the desert and the sky in it's living rays. "It's worth the risk." It's small moments like these that make life worth living; something as simple as a sunrise in the desert. It's such a pure thing, no matter how crazy everything else may be. And it's funny how people are, even those as self-reliant as Gus and Annie. When it comes down to hard decisions at a moment's notice, it seems you're always the one to make the call. It's a double-edged sword - if your decision ends up being the right one, you're the who ends up with all the glory. But if it's a wrong choice, no matter how willingly the others followed, you're the one who pays the ultimate price. It's your lot in life, you suppose. Annie peers at you inquisitively. "What're you ponderin' on there?"
You shrug. "The sunrise," you say, "It's what keeps me sane, Annie." Gus stifles a laugh unsuccessfully. Annie just smirks. "There you go gettin' all poetical on us," she says smugly.
You glare at her. "You know I hate poetry, Annie." "Then stop getting all emotional everytime you see a damn sunrise or a butterfly flappin' it's damn wings!" Gus chimes in.
"Dammit, Gus, that's a bunch of shit," you rebuff him. "I've seen yer old mangy ass get more emotional o'er a batch of good whiskey than a birthin' mother regardin' her child for the first time!" While deep down inside you only trust Gus and Annie as far as you can throw them, you know there's a shred of real humanity in them. They're good partners, in crime, and this is how things usually are. You have a feeling they might just forgive you for your sexual indiscretion back there in Fullton. Only time will tell.
Late morning is upon before you know it, and the three of you stop for a short breath at a small creek. While your horses quench their thirst and feed their constant appetites with grasses, flowers, and shrubs that grow abundantly along the creek bed, you and your fellow conspirators take a moment to stretch, enjoy a pot of coffee and a cigarette or two. Gus looks around suspiciously. "You sure it's safe to take a break!?" he inquires of Annie worriedly.
"You fuckin' stupid all a' sudden, Gus?" Annie fires back. "Of course it's safe, for now! You think I'd be lettin' your old-ass take breaks for no reason!?" Gus mutters something vulgar under his breath but reluctantly concedes to Annie's intuitions, as usual. He busies himself over in the bushes to your left. The poor guy always seems to have a wicked case of the shits.
Annie, meanwhile, decides to begin the preparation for a small breakfast. That's the thing about Annie; she aint afraid to admit that she is a woman. She'd still rather eat her own cooking than yours or Gus's any day of the week. She's still a woman, no matter how rough around the edges she may be. And a real woman is worth more than her weight in gold. You decide that this is an opportune moment to take a short walk into the pine forest up the hill that towers above the creek to see if you can see a little ahead.
"Keep an eye out up there!" Annie shouts as you make your ascent. "You just make sure you don't burn my bacon this time, woman!" you shout back. There's no answer. Dammit. Now you're stuck wondering if she heard you or if she's ignoring you. You almost say it again in case she didn't hear, but decide that it's better for her to have not heard it once than to hear the same joke that didn't get laughs a second time.
You eventually reach the top of the small hill that dominates the landscape for a few miles around and settle down upon a small outcropping of rocks with a single pine tree that stubbornly grows there, against all odds. You've only just entered a single small entry into your journal when you hear a most ominous sound, a soft rattling sound that sends shivers down your spine.