𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑲𝒊𝒅 & 𝑰 - A Billy the Kid western romance

Concealment

The image of him blurs my senses to the surroundings as my thoughts travel a shrieking path back to a painfully tragic occurrence. His name was Jack Chalkland, a young boy carrying a gut-wrenching up-bringing on his shoulders, when his path was intertwined with outlaws. He made a grave mistake, and joined a gang. His mother wept from that night onward, awaiting news of his inescapable capture. The moment his conversion was heard of, he was as good as dead. The families he had spent his life among wanted to watch him burn, for turning his back on them. The price he was to pay was that of his life. Eventually he was heaved back into town by the sheriff's men a month later, bruised and bloody. Mentally he was already gone. His body swung the following day. The mere thought makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

I return home at midday. Bucky, Cooper, and Kit wait for Milo outside when I arrive. Bucky is the eldest of the lot, having lived for 18 years. Cooper, a brunette boy with as many freckles as there are stars, is a year younger, and little blonde Kit is Milo's age. Bucky has been an orphan much longer than we have, which becomes reasoning behind his troublesome nature. They may have their individual issues, but I don't see them as horrible influences, I wouldn't allow Milo to spend so much time with them had that been the case. They have had each other's backs since they were toddlers and they supported Milo throughout the loss of our mother.

I head into town to see if anything has happened in the past few days, and if people are talking about the intruders I stumbled upon. I have absolutely no desire to relive that night, explaining what really happened. Worst case people begin conspiring that I'm a gangster myself. The possibility of the occurrence isn't as slight as one may think, if I know my townsfolk correctly. The wooden facades of the buildings are as desaturated as always. Eventually I arrive at Marley's Saloon. Upon my entrance I am somewhat startled by Billy's poster hanging on the wall. It hasn't been taken down in weeks, yet it still holds a grip on me. Only this time that grip feels different. 

The bustling atmosphere quiets down. Marley hollers from behind his counter, snapping me out of my thought. "There you are! What happened yesterday night? Folk are talking their lips flat about it", I am once more left speechless, suddenly my gut falls light-speed off of a vertical cliff. I have become an outcast, and worse yet, an outlaw, in the townsfolks eyes.

"Gunshots were heard, but no one seems sure of where they came from other than your general area!" He continues. His words spin around in my head. No one is sure. They don't know. "I heard them, yet I have no idea of who fired either. I came to see if you had any clue" I reply. I've just lied. I never lie.

"That's a shame, you were our final shot. It's real scary not knowing what's gone on, especially in times like these" He says, flinging saliva into the air while speaking. I catch myself beginning to pan my eyes toward the poster. "A real snake that one is" Marley goes, as he sees me look. "It was probably one of his leeches looking for a thrill. Scaring the town out of their skin. Horrible bastards, they are. Can't wait for the day they hang him." 

I nod in silence.

"Well, if you find anything out, let me know!" He says, while rubbing some grease onto his discoloured white wife-beater. "Likewise" I flash a half-smile and head out the swinging doors again. Out there in the haze I see him. At the end of the dirt road. He stares me down from the distance, and then he is gone again.

I see him everywhere now. In every corner of every street. I feel like he is watching me. But, then again, he has no reason to and I need to snap out of it. I have a track record of being paranoid. My mind falls back to where it was this morning, only this time its so much worse. I try to shake him off of me but I can't. The drawing on the poster; I find it so psychedelic how they managed to capture the weight in his eyes in a sketch. I hate it. I hate him. I hate myself, for not letting the image of him go. A very intense, unpleasant feeling follows along with the flashing thoughts and sights of him. I am terrified of the thought of seeing him or Tom again. I want absolutely nothing to do with them, and I wish we had never crossed paths more than anything else.

I hurry back home. All I crave is to shut myself in. I want to distance myself from the rest of the world, make it impossible for anyone to reach me ever again. Become inaccessible. I wish I could become invisible, too. I want to live, I want to see my brother's life unfold, but I don't want to exist. I don't want anyone to ever have known of my existence. I want to live in a universe where I'm only an observer. Accordingly, I shut myself in and the rest of the day passes as I waste away on my thin bed.

Milo arrives home later in the night. I hear a heavy, metal click against the table in the kitchen. I head out to greet him and only witness a swift movement of his. He removed whatever he had from the table. He is hiding something from me. It's all very unlike him. We watch each other carefully before anyone says a word. I think he notices the emptiness of my eyes. I am so tired of everything, and I can't have him begin to act strange now. I wait for him to begin talking, but he doesn't. His lack of greeting me is more telling than anything he could have said to dissipate the tension in the air. And so I ask him,

"Milo. What was that, that you had out on the table just now?"

He says nothing. We are so alike in that way. We fall silent in unpleasant situations. I stay silent too. I don't move, and neither does he. Then, defeated and with glossing eyes, he shows me. He lifts his dirty hands palms up, and in them lies an object capable of killing in an instant.

A revolver.

My brother will swing too.