big iron. Oct 19, 2017 0:28:50 GMT -5
Post by яave on Oct 19, 2017 0:28:50 GMT -5
J E S S I E M C C R E E
Strangers used to talk 'round these parts, smokin with my boots a'kicked up and I remember 'em all. Outlaw, not a care in the world, I used to think I was invincible. Twenty shots on my belt, notches- tallies, they watched peacekeeper and I with blood on my breath. Sittin' in corner bars with that guitar solo in my ears, I used to love music, I reckon.
I wish I were that same man.
Hips kissed, sweet metal; "they're lookin' for ya, Jessie,"
"They can find me with their eyes closed, Huck." I ain't ever cared much for small talk. Ego and ergo, I lived. Cowboy. I ain't ever hid from much either, I keep my head down now. Coverin' my eyes before I left, they're still lookin' for me out here and I don't reckon I'll keep em waitin' either. Four years, eight years, twelve- it ain't make a damn a difference, y'see, people want you dead you learn to live cozy with the noose. Mercy tells me it's stupid- us trainees aren't allowed to return home, well ain't that sweet.
They think I got a home 'round here.
Don't let me be misunderstood here, partner, but if we're all lookin for one dead Jessie McCree, who am I to leave 'em waitin? Peacekeepers came huntin' for me before, back before I buried Huck in a shoot out and I ain't leave Sombra for dead. Lit cigarette and "live large, Jessie," I ain't plan on disappointin'. He came a lookin' for me and the whole bar thought me a mad man, dust in my boots my biggest complaint - "you aren't plannin on-"
"On what, livin?" Smirk and it ain't nothin' serious.
It ain't ever was, Jessie.
We danced at high noon and I played fair, just like with Huck. Ain't never a man a quicker draw than McCree, I reckon, big iron on our hips and vigilantes ain't ever scared me. Twenty notches, drawing knots in nooses and we count- one, two. He shoots early, in my shoulder and I flinch; gunpowder burns, you don't get used to it. One shot, grazing his neck and Huck ain't have that privilege- no use shootin' the good. Shrug and laugh, have a pint to drink, Sombra tells me I'm an idiot and we share moonshine at night. It ain't taste as well the second time around.
If she's comin' back I can't stay the man I've always been; that ain't fair. Good, I don't think I've ever been truly good -- too stupid. Too self absorbed, gun slinger and I got a man to murder. Those wanted posters still hang with my name on them, I keep my head down walking past red dust. Mercy can't patch me up this time and that's fine; whoever's lookin for me ain't leaving in better shape. I ain't got tricks up my sleeve, just a flannel and whiskey, eighteen year old - I could have been anything. Yet here I am, funny how that works.
And I waste no time, sun's a risin' and I search for that faithful spot with trumpets in my ears. Whistlin' to myself like I ain't got a deadeye on my head; ain't nothin' I'm not used to, I reckon. I buried Hunk and my gun five feet apart, they'd take me to prison but they ain't touchin peacekeeper, she's the only one I could save. I reckon it's like findin' old photos, digging up an iron plated six shot with my name on it, five bullets loaded. I only had to shoot one,
it works that way sometime.
Part of me wishes I ain't ever come to these parts, but I hold my revolver one time again and it's not worth it. Some part of me was supposed to be better than this, but hell who cares bout this old cowboy anyways? One vigilante, one Jessie McCree -- if I die now then so be it, ain't nothin' much goin my way anyways. So I hold my breath, pistol on my old holster, buy a drink. I wish I ain't so disappointed, that's my one regret.
But I ain't dyin' today, boots kicked up on the bar's railin', hat coverin' my face.
Some dogs don't settle down, not around these parts.