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Description
Twilight sparkled over the purple sky, the day long over but the night still building up the courage to begin. The lanterns were lite, boards creaked louder than usual, and dogs began their never ending blight to each other about where the stars came from or they’re just barking. Regardless, Brian rubbed his eyes to wipe the sleep away. He sat back in his chair, leaning up next to the building, as he faced the endless nothingness of the desert trail.
“Nice haircut, by the way.” Stanly commented as he stood closer to the firefly heavy lamplight, thumbing through a periodical.
“Thank you!” Brain half-heartedly shouted towards the heavens. “You have no idea what I’ve had to deal with today.”
Stanly paused, giving Brain a dull look. “Trish caused a bar fight over her again, the Domino brothers tried to swindle a farmer out of his deed to the farm, had to carry that bloke’s iron ass to three different metal smiths because none of them would even look at it and we had to get the crazy cat lady’s cat out of the Town Hall’s rafters five times today.” He rolled off his tongue, flipping back to his book. “You’re right I have no idea.”
Brian leaned forward in his chair. He grunted, waving Stanly’s comment away. “No, I meant people feel the need to point it out. ‘You got a haircut’. Yeah I got a haircut, I was there! No need to point it out. If you like the haircut fine you can tell me that but people should watch their semantics. It’s no wonder the human race has so many misunderstandings.” He patted Stanly for his attention then pointed out into the darkened sands. A small dot barely visible seemed to move out there.
“I’m sure it was just for their own benefit really. People don’t believe things are real unless they’re pointed out.” Stanly rolled his eyes, putting down his paper book, reaching for his rifle.
Brain, already off the porch with shotgun in hand, walked out to the edge of the dimmest light cast from the flickering lantern. “Kind of like those picture books for three year olds you’re always reading.” He chuckled, squinting into the darkness without much success.
Stanly pulled back the bolt to check the rifle’s camber. “Comic books Brian. They’re comic books. Just because I enjoy fine art with my reading doesn’t mean you have to jump down my throat about it. You’re just mad cause your wife hated the hair. Admit it.” He said, forcing the bolt back into place.
“SHHH!!” Brain bellowed, snapping his fingers then pointing to watch the dot that was now the shape of a person riding a horse.
Stanly sighed, lining up his sights. The horse squeaked and puffed as it slowly wondered toward them. The figure, starting as nothing but a shadow, became a battered long worn cloaked figure with a large brutish metallic arm with gears twisting and turning as they waited for its owners next move. Beneath the hood a brass jaw stood out catching the light of the night sky hauntingly.
Brian cocked his gun and aimed. “Halt. State your business.” He commanded with as much authority as he could muster, which wasn’t much at all.
Stanly lowered his rifle. “Brian its old man Jenkins. Just let him pass. Jeez, man you don’t have to be on edge all the time you know. You need to learn to calm down.” He added as Jenkins and his horse heavily clunked by.
Brain studied the horse and its brass plating before lowering his shotgun. “The day I don’t keep my guard up is the day I die.” He spat, the black liquid rolling through the sand.
“Sure. And shoot every little critter or ant in sight.” Stanly chuckled at Brian’s dismay. “Go to sleep man. Our shift ends in a bit anyway.” Taking the little comic book between his fingers, flipping to the next page with a touch of glee.
Brain slumped his shoulders and was about to comment when a thud caught their attention. The horse continued into town but Jenkins lay in the dirt, dust clouded around his form. The night was silent as they both found themselves at the body’s chosen resting spot. A few onlookers paused in their night life to take note at the rider laying in the street. “Grab his legs.” Brian hissed through his teeth.
Stanly stood back, his hands over his mouth. “What’s wrong with his face!?” Trying to keep from upchucking.
Brian nabbed Stanly’s collar, “That’s why you got the legs. Move it.” He growled.