When I Wake Up
By Knowing Grace
January Chaps & Spurs Challenge: Ice*, wolf*, stove*, oak*, & doorway*
The trouble with Pa is that he worries too much, it's what gave him all that grey hair in the first place. He worries about all of us boys, but Joe most of all. That kid always seems to get himself into the worst kinds of trouble without half trying. He comes home beaten up almost every time he goes to town. He gets shot more than the rest of us—although little brother would just blame that one on bad timing—gets sick more often than the rest of us, and he's a terrible flirt which usually ends in a shootout with the girl's father or brother or cousin. All in all, the kid's trouble with a capital T! I remember reading in the Bible that his name means "He shall add", well I can attest to that, Joe does add to the family, but what he adds is chaos. He should have been born with a warning label attached to his big toe. The thought makes me chuckle, but as my chest heaves with mirth the laugh turns into a groan as the movement pulls at my wounds—reminding me of the mess I'm in. Maybe this time I've given my pa a reason to worry. If only he were here...
Someone down there must have heard me moaning because the next thing I know bullets riddle the oak tree I'm leaning against, ricocheting off of the boulder to my right and I instinctively jerk away from the ugly sound. They miss their target, of course; shooting uphill isn't any picnic and more often than not when doing so, a man aims too low or too high to strike what he's shooting at. That knowledge would give me a sense of relief under ordinary circumstances, but in this case...
There are more of them than there are of me—about seven times more—and by now they've probably sent some of their number crawling up the mountainside to circle behind my hiding place.
Another twinge of agony zips through me and I force my gaze downward, taking in the damage done to me. For once I'm glad I'm not dressed wholly in black, otherwise I wouldn't be able to see the wreck that my poor body has become. The white shirt I put on this morning to impress the lovely Miss Bonnie Ingram is now stained a deep crimson, but I can still make out the two bullet holes: one is just below my ribcage on the left side, the other higher in my chest. Both wounds leak my life's blood into the ground around me. My brain feels fuzzy around the edges as I try to remember why I'm here on Lonesome Mountain. Lonesome Mountain...what an apt name; to be truthful, that's not the real name of this place—for the name has somehow been lost in the passing of time—, but my brothers and I call it that because it's the only mountain we pass on the way to and from Virginia City and it kinda stands out like a sore thumb in the middle of nowhere. It's also not within the boundary lines of the Ponderosa which makes my predicament even worse. No one will know I'm in trouble until it is too late.
Why am I here? The question nags at me and the more I try to force the reason to the front of my mind the more it shunts away into the recesses of my brain. Frustration makes me want to scream, but I finally give up; I need to save my strength for what is to come not waste it on something that will probably show up when I'm no longer searching for it.
Well, that went well. I'm wondering why I find it so much fun to torture Adam when I'm a JOEgal, but I guess my taste for S?S knows no bounds. lol!
Chapter Two comin' right up!