RDR, Inspired after a similar attempt by Michael Abbott
Was on the way back from benedict point. found the three track intersection. climbed the cliff from there through a narrow path. i was trying to find my way to armadillo. when i did something that changed everything. i shot an eagle.
i got down from my horse. and went near the dead bird. i stared at its long feathers and took them, put them into my pocket. Then I heard a noise. a growl. and i felt a pulling at my hand. Fuck, it was a cougar. A grey cougar. Was almost biting my hand off.
I pushed it away with great effort and ran to my horse. I looked around and couldnt hear it, couldnt see it. It had gone away.
I got onto the stallion, the one I tried so hard breaking that Bonnie cried laughing. I was ruffled, scared, injured. So I went the way back I came.
Until I heard that noise again. My spine chilling. The dread turns to anger. Because in one move, the cougar had grabbed the stallion from behind. Felled it and ripped its throat off. It was dead. I'm on the ground.
Angered. Scared. Preparing for its next attack. I heard another noise and ran. Ran, without listening. Without looking. Until I couldn't.
And that's when I shot him. I had to to do it. Hunger, thirst, desperation all seeped into me while I waited the whole afternoon for help. Horses might have looked at me but horsemen wouldn't. They were on their way. It is the west, and everyone's going somewhere.
So yes, I shot him. And then the sheriff came. With lot of horses. The passive guilt of killing a man was clouded by the fact that someone was here for me. Someone came looking for me. That ended up being my bounty.
i got down from my horse. and went near the dead bird. i stared at its long feathers and took them, put them into my pocket. Then I heard a noise. a growl. and i felt a pulling at my hand. Fuck, it was a cougar. A grey cougar. Was almost biting my hand off.
I pushed it away with great effort and ran to my horse. I looked around and couldnt hear it, couldnt see it. It had gone away.
I got onto the stallion, the one I tried so hard breaking that Bonnie cried laughing. I was ruffled, scared, injured. So I went the way back I came.
Until I heard that noise again. My spine chilling. The dread turns to anger. Because in one move, the cougar had grabbed the stallion from behind. Felled it and ripped its throat off. It was dead. I'm on the ground.
Angered. Scared. Preparing for its next attack. I heard another noise and ran. Ran, without listening. Without looking. Until I couldn't.
And that's when I shot him. I had to to do it. Hunger, thirst, desperation all seeped into me while I waited the whole afternoon for help. Horses might have looked at me but horsemen wouldn't. They were on their way. It is the west, and everyone's going somewhere.
So yes, I shot him. And then the sheriff came. With lot of horses. The passive guilt of killing a man was clouded by the fact that someone was here for me. Someone came looking for me. That ended up being my bounty.