Abacus Jones: Soulless Cowboy in,

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Madness can be a dammed thing.  Hard to make folk understand when they aren’t the ones stricken by it.  But if I could offer an attempt, it’s sort of like that little kid that just keeps saying your name and never stops saying it and never lets up no matter how many times you ask him to stop.  If you get louder he gets louder until the both of you are just shouting at each other and of course the kid wins.  Because they have no reason to stop.  And there ain’t a damn thing you can do to stop it.  Continue reading

Abacus Jones: Soulless Cowboy in,

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I weren’t happy about things as they were, to say the least.

Angel had taken my eye.  My good one.  I think.  It was hard to say without a gun in my hand.  The world seemed smaller on account of it no matter how much land still laid out before us on this damned journey.  There was still at least a good day’s travel to the mountain we’d been heading towards the past two days, and the closer we got to it, the more my blood seemed to be boiling inside of me.  Even if I hadn’t known where we were heading on account of a light that only my eyes could see rising like a beacon from the top of that mountain, the fever that was welling up in me would have told me the same.  As if darkness could emit such blinding light that it made me all kinds of ill.  Something was happening to me, and I didn’t like it. Continue reading

Abacus Jones, Soulless Cowboy in:

My vision blurred as the world fell down around me and everything was black and still.  There was no more screaming, no more pain, only the silence and darkness.  But there was still me.  At least, I think it was me, at the center of all of it, as if all the darkness and quiet were a room I was stuck in. Continue reading

Abacus Jones, Servant of Apocitus in:

I had been told as a boy once that no man ever grew more prosperous than from having his own land.  To till your own soil, and grow your own food.  To raise your cattle to raise their own young someday.  And of course, to have your own horse.  That was most important of all.  That’s what riches were to Robert McTannen. Continue reading

Abacus Jones, Soulless Cowboy in:

Playing a piano is a lot like being unable to read while trying to read after getting kicked square in your head by a horse.  A really…angry…horse.

I looked at all the white and black bars all lined up in a row in front of me and thought to myself, who could learn this?!  With the piano player dead, and his story looking more true by each second, it wasn’t looking that any of us had the time to start learning.  I started to put my fingers down in what looked to be the right way, but only a fitful sound came out.  Something that sounded like a mule hauling a wagon over a cliff.  Continue reading