A little late but here we are again. Toying with first person and genre for a change. I have a strong feeling that next week will be my most idiotic piece yet, so stay tuned for that one. Until then, enjoy, comment, say hi.
Click on the image for a brief explanation of my process and larger sizes on flickr.
I’ve always loved westerns, but never wanted to be a cowboy. I can’t grow a beard, my face is not weathered, my hands are soft and horses take a peculiar disliking to me.
Yet, here I am, outside a saloon, about to face off with Toothface Taylor after sticking up for Laelene the prostitute, when he was liquored up and getting slap happy.
While it’s terrifying and not nearly as cool as in the movies, I do feel pretty fucking rugged. Do I actually stand a chance? Well, I have played a lot of lacrosse, my reflexes aren’t bad. I was ok at the shooting range and I always kicked my brother’s arse at Halo. He’s still drunk from last night. Maybe I won’t die.
Ooh, we’re starting the walk. I’m sweating a monsoon. Stay calm. Focus. Spin, draw. Oh, he’s fallen over.
“Do I still have to shoot him?” I enquire. Nothing. Thanks guys.
What’s he doing? Writhing around with his hand in his… Right, he’s trying to draw. Guess I’d better shoot the bastard. Squeeze bang. Is he dead? He’s still moaning. What do I do now?
What am I even doing here? These people don’t need insurance.