Friday, June 19, 2020

Red Dead Glitches

Oh, the stories I have about Red Dead Redemption.

White hot sun baked the sweat and dust on my face into clay. The air was oppressive. But I was with my people. Dutch, the closest thing to a father I've ever known, and Hosea, a source of constant wisdom. We were riding to a fishing hole. It was our first moment of leisure in many months of suffering and death and fear. I was relieved but wary.

We noticed a train stopped on the tracks ahead, and in front of that, a wagon. It was an iron cage on wheels filled with dirty, angry men. They could have been us. Maybe it would be us, one day. I peered through the bars, squinting at the sun, when I recognized keen, dark eyes and an impeccably twirled mustache. Trelawny, the old charlatan. Apparently less clever than he imagined, but no less dapper. 

We hadn't seen Trelawny for months, but he was our brother, and we could not leave him to swing. Dutch introduced himself to the Deputies at the front of the wagon to make the case for Trelawny's freedom.

The train, once stopped, screamed to life, belching steam and smoke. Three of the men in the iron wagon, having picked its lock, tumbled out and sprinted for the train. The Deputies panicked and turned to us, pleading. Those three men are wanted for murder, arson and theft. They're needed alive. The deputies need our help.

For a moment, I saw a malevolent glint in Dutch's eyes, and I pressed a hand to the revolver at my side. A hail of bullets, and Trelawny too would be free. The moment passed, and Dutch pointed to the train. Catch them, and take the deputy with you!

The deputy took my hand and slid into the saddle behind me. I dug my heels in deep and my horse shot after the fugitive train. The pounding of hooves, or maybe it was my heart, thundered in my ears. The train slowed, this was our chance! I wrestled my horse over the tracks as a nearby branch caught my shirt and popped me out of the saddle, sending me screaming fifty feet into the air. I hit the ground like a sack of wet flour and died.

Here's a painting of Dave Chappelle