"Red for Dead" An RDR Universe Short Story (Male Character)

Paint the Picture (Journal Entry)

Look, it's not like I wanted to be gunslinger.

If you came back from a day of work to find your neighborhood and family in ruins, attacked by some low life gang who you just found the name of, what would you do? Add on the fact that you now are apart of a gang filled with kids who also lost their families in the massacre? Yea, you'd do the same thing as me. And that, my friends, is how I ended up wandering halfways across the country with nothing but a stolen horse, the clothes on my back, a hat, and this stupid, fucking, revolver. I don't even wanna know the stories behind this piece of shit, but it works. And in a world when nothing is guaranteed, you best believe i'm hanging on to the reliable things. Hi, my names Ryan, and i'm hoping you never find this journal.

Let me paint you a picture of just who you are reading about. I'm around 5'11, i'm well built, brown eyes and medium brown hair that messes up around my eyes. A gold chain from my mom sits, hidden behind a black shirt and jacket, one that you'll probably never see if your an ordinary person. A rusted dagger sits in my left pocket, blood stained, but functional while an unhealthy amount of cigarettes are stored in my right. Handmade satchel from my mother around my shoulder holds anything I find useful or valuable. One or the other.

I was never a particularly honorable kid, or so you could say. Fighting, good times, and an unhealthy obsession for whiskey has essentially characterized my life for the past three years, but I'll get back to that later, I promise it might be important. 

So, where do I start? Three years ago, I came home at night from a ride out to find my house on fire, and the charred remains of my mom, older, and little brother. Dad was never around much, hell, never even knew if he existed. For all I know, I could be the son of one of the sons of bitches in the saloon who I drink next to every other evening. Although I never knew my dad, I can promise you there's no way he deserved my mother. Charismatic, bright, and unbelievably smart for her time, my mom embodied the ideal image of a women. Not to mention kick ass cooking. From a young age, my mom tried everything in her power to give us the lives she could never have. Nonetheless, despite her efforts, it's hard to find a job as a woman in this time. That means me, my lil brother Nico, and my older brother David spent most of our days finding scrap jobs which paid jack shit. The solution? Robbery. Old people, homeless people, rich men, poor women, if you breathed air, you were fair game. First robbery with my older brother at 11, was doing my own by 14. Sure we were young but let me tell you, it is very hard to not give in to the temptation of a 6 inch rusted knife pressed against your neck. It wasn't a lot, but eventually, we upgraded from the streets of our town Geyser to a small house in an excluded neighborhood. Not bad right? 

I know this is probably making me sound like a dick right now, but i'm a decent kid. I try and learn sometimes, I can read, shoot, and ride half decently. In this world, there's not much you need more after that. I talk to some girls, have some fun, drink in the saloon, nothing far out of the ordinary for some regular scumbag kids.  

Despite the fact we lived probably thirty cents above the poverty line, this life did have its continuities. I liked my life, it was fun, fast, the way I liked it. Or, the way I used to like it. 

Before we get into the nitty gritty of my story, let's go back a couple chapters or some in this journal. Let me bring you back to day one.

(Note: Going forwards, I like to get straight into the action, but I can add chapters which build up the actual characters in the story, let me know.)