The Campfire Has Gone Out

A short western story about the adventures of Logan Slade. A fictional story inspired by great movies like High Plains Drifter, The Pale Rider, Fistful Of Dollars, etc.Red Dead Redemption 2, music,etc

I've never lived where churches grow. Out in the west, 'neath the coachwagon an outlaw was born. Never got to know my Momma. I watched my father die, and I grew up with this gang that took me in. Now, I saddle the black Shire and ride it over the Great Divide, I cut loose hundreds of rivers to find the promise of freedom, the promise of peace.

I ride on to the sound of coyotes yapping, crossing the blackened blue desert under the silver moonshine. No folks around, no town's noise, just the beat of Sankofa's hooves filling my ears with Texan pride, and with the devil beneath my shoes.

The moon is slow and steady, the sun comes when it's ready, no need to rush the mornin' 'cause I'm dreamin' dreams of wavin' grass and streams that brim. Following the metal rivers, those damn railroads to peace are seething. I ride the plains, the wide frontier, next to the Morgans, the Turkomans, the Tennessee's finest.

There comes a time when an outlaw sees the flickering fireflight one last time 'fore going off to his devil to be warm together. All my castles are built with sand, devil may care, it's hard to understand, I got no way with words but with gunpowder, people used to listen and concur.

I never really cared for the law. Them sheriffs wearin' tin stars, corrupted sons of b*****s, doin' as they please, hopin' to be saved by their rusty six-shooters. For mercy they begged, for more time they prayed, but we were fresh out of sands, and mercy, we gave them none.

I've done some bad things, to bad people and good. Dancin' on the razor's edge, I can't be expecting good things to happen when I lived a bad life. One day I went to pick up a bounty, and when I got back home I found two crosses standing tall behind the house. My wife and son were killed by some feller. For what? For ten dollars.

All my compadres, the good fellers are gone, the finest Mustangs of our gang, met God in the nastiest of ways. I'm the last of the wild, blazin' trails an' raisin' dust, runnin' free but no longer blind. Revenge ain't something I went after. Vengeance is for idiots. I've seen revenge empty a man's life until there was nothing left to live for. A good act does not wash out the bad. Past friendships indebted me. The debt is to the living. I don't think the world's a particularly beautiful place, but I do believe in redemption. I stood loyal where loyalty mattered.  I took a gamble on love and did a few loving acts, even I still don't believe in nothin'.

The immediate silence of last night's campfire just allowed the echoes of memories to play out in my mind, reminding me of my own unwinnable wars against the never ending tide of time. Sometimes you count bullets, and sometimes you count time.

The campfire has gone out as the sun lit up the skies, and the bisons stampede with practiced bravado, things changed but I never did. Change is a b***h.

The sun glanced off of my long, wicked looking gun in the holster as I'm asking them crossroads where I've been heading to all my life. More and more of civilization is changing. Behold the birth of the twentieth century. Fellers like me become more like ghosts than people. This place, ain't no such thing as civilized. It's man so in love with greed he has forgotten himself, and found only appetites.

I sometimes wonder if things are ever the way we remember 'em, or if we were ever who we thought we was. Some trees flourish, others die. Some cattle grow strong, others are taken by wolves or coyotes. Some men are born rich enough and dumb enough to enjoy their lives. Ain't nothing fair. But I do hope I have enough time to right the wrongs. I'm many things, most of 'em bad. But a man never never forgets. Nothing is ever forgiven. This ain't no place for no hero to call home. So it would seem.

The piquant tortures of my mind are enough to make a man drink… or worse. I hope I have some soul left. I hope it's not too late to repent, and I do hope I'd be buried with friends some day.

I pushed as hard as I can. Change is a b***h, but every man has a right to change, a chance of forgiveness. I deserved this hell. And I hope to wake up soon.