Short stories ive written

The Adventures of the enfamed Outlaw, Walter Mitty

(This was a Narrative written for school, made in November of 2020. Enjoy!)

"Clink...Clink...Clink..." Every head in the saloon turned. The old, worn out batwing doors opened with a creak. It's boards were once a beautiful mahogany, but after years of wear and tear, they had become dull, and splintery. The bartender had warned never to grab it from the upper left, lest you risk a splinter. The steady clunk of boots echoed throughout the dimly lit roadhouse. There walked a figure. Shrouded in a dingy, tattered poncho, with frayed strings. They adorned a leather, pinched front hat. Which was pulled in a peculiar way over the strangers face. The faint glow of a cigar, peered out from under the hats brim. The bartender, turned from his glasses for a brief moment, to see this mysterious, (what he assumed to be) man sit at the bar, his hand resting upon the mahogany planks as he spoke in a gravelly voice that sounded troubled "Ottermans Whiskey." the tender nodded. Leaving for a few into the back, to retrieve the glass of liquid fire. The stranger averted his gaze from the bar to peer around the room, what caught his attention was a squat, toad faced man staring at him with a sour expression. Then the toad spoke, "You arent from 'round here are ya, parn'er." "Pardon?." the toad frowned "You heard me, I said, yous aint from round here. We don't take too kindly to strangers." The stranger crossed his arms, leaning back against the wooden structure, "Just what are you implying, partner." The accused mocked. The squat man growled in frustration and stood up, his chair barreling to the side "You gettin smart with me boy!?, I oughtta blast 'yer brains out, if you got any." The stranger smirked, "Then why don't you? Prove you're more than just an ugly 'ol toad." The toad faced man quickly reached for his silver Derringer Pistol. But in an instant, a loud crackling noise, like thunder. Shook the saloon. A horrific scent of what seemed to be melted flesh filled the room. The stranger lifted his head, he had short, cropped raw umber hair that fell just below his jaw, and a long, jagged scar, as well as cold Grey eyes. The room fell silent, every stranger turned their gaze toward the smoking corpse, crumpled over on the floor. Then, someone spoke in a shaky tone of voice "H-he...He killed old man Boone!" someone else spoke up, exclaiming nonchalantly "Well, he had it coming. What's your name stranger?" The man with the hat grabbed his glass, swallowing down the honey gold liquid like it was nothing. Before he disappeared into the dusty streets he exclaimed in a proud, boasting voice "Its Walter. Walter MItty, the greatest outlaw this town has ever had the pleasure of laying its eyes on. Don't you forget it!" and with that, he mounted his steed and rode away into the blistering hot desert. The dust swallowing him up whole.

..."Walter? Walter!." Walter jolted awake, gazing around the room with an unfamiliar look in his eyes, everything felt strange, as if it didn't belong. Focusing his eyes on the old, box television. It was displaying some kind of western shown, presumably Josey Wales or Bonanza. Mrs.Mitty frowned, her thin lips pulled in a taut frown "I said, turn that TV down! I can't focus on cooking dinner." Walter sighed and confessed tiredly "Yes dear, I must've drifted off..." he moved forward, his muscles protested, wanting to relax again. But he forced himself up to turn the dial, the room went quieter and his wife headed back into the kitchen. Letting his attention fall back to the TV, he saw the main character. Standing in the middle of the town, his hand on his pistol. The more he stared, the more Walter could feel himself drift off again.

..."Ames? Ames! Get yerself out here now!" standing in front of the old fort mercer, located in Río Bravo, Walter Mitty shouted. There was a low, cruel cackle. Similar to the sound a rabid coyote would make. From behind the sandstone pillar a man brandishing an old, Whitworth rifle stood. His face was unhandsome, a criss cross of scars demolishing any kind of appealing looks this man had. His unkempt, greasy hair falling loosely over his shoulders. He grinned, a few teeth missing, "Well! Looky here boys!, It's our old pal, Walter Mitty!" He cackled again, his grin widening "What brings you to our humble abode?" Walter stood, defiant and unafraid "Ames, You know why I'm here." With a scowl Ames cocked his gun "Ah, So yer a military boy now? Working for those thieving Ace-High folks?" This didn't help Walter's case as he began to try and persuade the man "Ames, I implore you to think about thi-" "You implore me? You Implore Me?" with a wheezed out laugh he turned to look at his hidden companions "Well, I Implore you to go back and tell them I aint interested!" Walter decided, if he couldn't take him alive. Then he'd just take him dead. He went to reach for his gun, but it was too late, The similar sound of thunder shook the ground. A searing, Burning pain spreading throughout his chest. Walter stumbled back. His balance failed as he tumbled to the ground. Ames smirked "You should've Pulled in 'yer horns boy, But you just never learned, did you?" There lay Walter Mitty, Nearing his last breath. With shaky hands he raised his gun, setting his sights on the man a few yards in front of him. Ames had turned his back and with a weary smirk, Walter pulled the trigger. All chaos broke loose as Ame's head cracked open like a cantaloupe being stepped on. With his last burst of energy, Walter let out a howl of laughter, collapsing back as his vision faded, he spit a stream of crimson onto the dusty road. Croaking out his final words "See you on the other side you miserable old fool..."