lasso chapter 1

A Chapter by matthew bryon

the opening to my adventure/comedy western following the characters danny,johnathan and bronco

Lasso

The doors to Oldbrook’s saloon swung open. The four drunkards at the bar span round at varying speeds depending on their intake of units. However nobody walked in or out. It was just the wind. The sound of a spittoon clanging resonated in the silence until an intoxicated gentleman collapsed leading the remaining patrons to holler whilst the tired looking barman clapped sarcastically.

Outside the saloon a palomino stallion named Bronco stared longingly at a mare by the name of Christy; she was hitched up to Mc Adam’s general store about 50 yards down the street. He tried to get her attention by whinnying as loud as he could muster, but to no avail, as frankly his whinnying ability was poor at best, and even Mrs. Gretchem’s cat, a tabby, gave him a concerned look before returning to licking his genitals for the fiftieth time that day. The stallion's owner, Glen Matthews, stumbled out of the saloon door in a confused rage after just losing his weekly pay to the Thornton twins in a game of Texas Hold-em. Bronco knew that Glen would take out his annoyance by kicking him repeatedly with his spurs until they returned to his shack in the hills. This Bronco thought unfair in the extreme; as that famous phrase had it, ‘There's no point in flogging a horse that’s dead inside’ " or perhaps he heard it wrong. So today, instead of accepting, with a pinch of salt, the physical manifestation of his owner’s depression: as he was unhitched from the railings, Bronco sprinted as fast as he could down the road, pulling a baffled Glen onto his face. He stopped suddenly next to the general store and gave Christy the best wink he could muster. He was better than most at the cheeky wink. Christy momentarily stared at Bronco, rolled her eyes and huffed like a wife at a wedding watching her husband do the Macarena ironically. Meanwhile Glen gracelessly pulled himself upright and ran after his AWOL vehicle yelling obscenities. Norman Bates, Sheriff Otis’s deputy (wearing his deceased father’s deputy outfit which he washed and polished daily) cautiously moved towards Bronco, but stumbled. Alerted, Bronco reared and struck good ol’ Norm in the mouth, causing an incisor to fly a great distance from Norm’s stupefied expression. He squealed and collapsed to the floor with a pitiful thud.

With one last look at the street that had kept him prisoner for close to 6 years and the street’s residents who were either sniggering or mouth agape; he strutted out of town like Prince in his prime. When he came to the outskirts of Oldbrook he switched into a gallop and felt the wind drift up his mane in refreshing waves. He passed the town sign and passed the hillside shack that he slept by. Glen’s deep-set eyes vanished as he flew over the horizon.

“Larry, you prick!” A beer bottle bounced off a cactus's head and fell in the dirt. A second bottle narrowly missed the cactus's right arm and made a “ting” off the side of a rock. "You screwed me, Larry, ya b***h! Where's my money? Where’s my fortune?" Jonathan punched the ground clumsily and pushed himself to his feet. He began to square up to the cactus thinking of clever insults but the best he could muster in his delirious state was "you green b*****d". He booted the cactus’s shin and instantly regretted it; he collapsed to the floor in frenzied sobs mumbling maledictions against Larry and his wife. The real Larry was riding ten miles north with Jonathan's fifty dollars, his gun and his sand coloured hat. But cactus Larry satisfied Jonathan's needs of having something human sized to swear at. Jonathan began to weep like a terrible actor in an independent film and resting his face on an ant hill, instantly fell asleep.

The ants stared up at the face that had destroyed the upper studio apartments of their town with curious and empathy. "The face clearly is suffering from some sort of traumatic experience", they thought in unison. "What shall we do to improve the wellbeing of this home-wrecker"? The eldest ant, who probably would have had a beard if ants had beards, thought, "We should construct a large prodding device to wake the melancholy fellow up: he may even reward us with knowledge of some kind". The ants nodded in approval and set to work. After around two minutes the mini mechanics had erected a small stick composed of smaller sticks. They looked around at each other in a proudly fashion and raised the stick towards the face's eye. Jonathan felt a small jab at his eyelid and peered at the small stick coming towards him. The stick jabbed again, but in his open eye. Jonathan yelped shrilly, and jumped backwards, leaving a teary indent on the ant metropolis. The ants moved excitedly, unsure what to do, while the eldest ant stood with arms outstretched .like an insect Gandhi. "We mean you no harm", he telepathised. Unfortunately Jonathan didn’t speak Hymenoptera, and saw the non-violent prodding as a full scale assault. He promptly mashed the ant hill and wandered off.

With the sun’s rays focussed fully on Jonathan’s face and neck, Jonathan rapidly became seriously dehydrated mainly due to the alcohol and slightly to do with the fact that he had swallowed a mouthful of sand when he fell on the ant hill. In his fevered state he began to hallucinate objects; men and women made of sand smiling a sandy grin. A sandy horse and carriage rolled past, with a stern chap at the reins. “Good day to you, sir”, he said mechanically, before turning back to the road ahead. Jonathan tried to act nonchalant and nodded back. The two sand-women inside the carriage giggled. One said to the other, “Strange man”. “Quite”, said the other.

Jonathan tried to block out the images whirring across his vision. Luckily for him, the rain suddenly descended in sheets. The sand people melted as they stood. Jonathan sighed and continued trudging towards an alcove which had formed under two boulders. He sat in the alcove and sulked with his head against the rigid rock, looking out at the sodden landscape.

Bronco, after spending several hours running through the wilderness freely, felt that his new independence was becoming lacklustre. When the rain began to pour he even felt a little miserable, and began looking for warmth and a nice patch of sage grass to feast on. Passing by a scorpion who was staring defeated at his flooded home, he spotted the melancholy figure of Jonathan lying slumped in a ball under his trench coat. Bronco approached him cautiously, in case evasive action was needed. Reaching the body, he realised that the man was out for the count and prodded him with his hoof.

Jonathan stirred and mumbled expletives, thinking that the horse was just another bleedin’ illusion, but this one seemed somehow more realistic. He reached out to touch Bronco, who flinched but allowed the man’s rough hand to stroke his mane. “I’m going to call you ‘Gill’”, he muttered. Bronco sighed.

The sun began to rise on the farmstead of the Garrett family. A rooster perched on the farm’s northern gate began to crow for several seconds before his wife stood up and stared at him expressionlessly with eyes half open from drowsiness. The c**k stared back and crowed even louder. His hen wife slapped him hard across the face with the back of her wing causing him to caw pathetically. The cockerel fell off the gate and readied himself brushing the dirt out of his feathers and shaking his head to clear his mind. The rooster began to strut in a half circle in front of his poultry wife with his right wing extended down towards the soil. His life partner of four days continued her gaze and clicked her neck from to side to side. The cockerel fully expecting his spouse to have submitted to his dominance by now gulped and started to back off. By this time, the other hens had begun to gather around the domestic argument forming a rough circle which enclosed the couple like a chicken coliseum. The now bemused hen bounded form the gate onto the clay ground. She began to approach her husband arms outstretched. The cockerel, which was now feeling like more of a capon began to back away from his displeased missus and tried to run out of the arena only to be pushed back by two burly hens cackling with bloodlust in their eyes. The c**k realised his fate and turned to see his wife’s wing speeding towards his left cheek, before he could prepare himself for the next blow, he got a right hook to the beak bending it askew making the situation even funnier for the spectators. The onslaught was over in less than a minute with two watching pullets letting the victorious hen pass to her friends where they proceeded to high five and hug whilst beaming with glee at the triumph of hens everywhere. The craven c**k set with his bent beak in his hands. He peered with violated eyes at the groups of viewers leaving the makeshift stadium before seeing his wife leaping onto the northern gate and crow majestically at the rising sun, wings outstretched, before bowing at the crowd of feathered feminists followed by a salute to her battered husband.

Inside the farmhouse, Danny Garrett, the youngest of three children heard the soft tones of the chicken crowing outside causing him to look out the window at the previous harbinger of daylight now in the foetal position stroking his redundant pecker. Danny thought “how odd”, shrugged and proceeded to put on his boots and jacket. He slid down the banister and past the kitchen where his mother, Abigail, was making a hard boiled egg for her husband who was still snoring upstairs. His mother shouted out the kitchen window” Danny if you get mud on your new jacket, I’ll spank you so hard that you’ll be sleeping on your belly for the rest of your bleedin life”. Danny yelled “I love you mom”. “I love you too sweet heart and come back soon for breakfast or you’ll father will take it as his own” she bellowed before slamming the window shut. Danny smiled in a way, only a person with no knowledge of a mortgage can, ran and jumped over the farm yard fence. It was the beginning of July and the glorious asters which were his mothers pride and joy were blooming alongside the growing alders which towered over Danny like sentinels of the west. A swallow-tailed kite passed overhead returning to its young with a hapless cricket in its beak. Danny continued walking towards his destinations, Bead mine which had been deserted for several years after a lack of findings leading to the companies which were stationed nearby taking leave of their business venture and moving to greener or hopefully golden pastures. However the mine was not completely forgotten with the mine still visited daily by Benjamin Brown who had worked for the Mayfield Company for 12 years before declining to leave with the rest of the company as he was adamant that they standing “on a fortune which was just waiting to be uncovered”. The company partners did not feel the same way leaving Mr. Brown with his pickaxe as a redundancy present and a empty mine to run loose in. Danny enjoyed visiting Benjamin and secretly Benjamin enjoyed them as well even if Danny was keeping him from his important work.

Danny entered the mine and walked to the end which was about 20 metres form the entrance finding Benjamin sitting on a timber stool whilst swigging from a flask probably containing spirits of some kind. “Morning miner Ben” said Danny innocently. Benjamin sighed and said “how many times have I got to tell you Danny I’m not a miner I’m a prospector” “miners are like slaves and give all their hard earned gold to their greedy bosses who spend it on whisky and w****s meanwhile prospectors work for themselves and become rich and famous like explorers” “oh” said Danny scratching his head “but you do the same thing” said Danny “ for the last time Danny we do not do the same thing, miners mine and prospectors …… prosper” “ oh okay” said Danny and stood silent for several seconds. “Why are prospectors better than miners if miners get dental insurance?” asked Danny simply. Benjamin snorted with laughter dropping his flask to the floor “dental insurance, do I look like I need dental insurance”. Benjamin bared his teeth which to Danny resembled a vandalised graveyard “no” said Danny. “Exactly” said Benjamin who wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and stood up returning to his “important” work.

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