"Feed a People Octopus 🐙 for a Year and insist it's Chicken 🍗, and eventually they'll believe it so much, that when they taste a Real Chicken 🐔, they'll Deny that it is."

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A #WRITCO Story

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THE UNKNOWN ASSAILANT

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Honestly, I really don't know where to start y'all. Been fishing thru these notes for some years now, going way yonder to the beginning. But I'm sure yous ain't willing to listen to every detail, 'specially if it's miles long. So I'm gonna tell you piecemeal the way I saw things and what I heard about how southerners accepted my misadventures. I am the Man with No Name, and accordingly, I do not exist.
And yet, my story has been riddled and parsed into flat out lies and misleads.
Finally, you will hear it from my own pen, and my journals.

Let's start with my parents.

"Imminent Domain Southerner," he told them. "You need to leave, now."

My father wasn't one to take orders from noone, 'specially not some old fart from the Railroad Company up north. "You get off my land, Mister!"

"Aheh," the Stranger on a Black Horse sneered, "you got the wrong impression." He reached around for his Rifle. "See, I'm not asking you to leave."

My father eyed his axe quickly.

"I'm telling you," he continued as he pointed his rifle at him. "Leave, now!"

You know, as I put the pieces together that I gathered from that Garbage Railroad Man just before I bloodied my face with his crimson, I can't help but wonder what went through my father's mind. As, he watched helplessly injured my mother and younger brother incinerate in our lifetime home, thanks to his insidious actions. Perhaps shooting him in the face was a mercy killing.

My brother wasn't so happy, but so what. Passive aggressive wasn't in my nature. When a Yankee killed a Good Ole Boy and his family, it draws a clear line in the southern dirt.

Fact is, that devil had it coming.

Yeah, it put us back on the run, but I didn't care one iota. And the Bloody Trail I suppose begins there.

I really didn't know then how far this road would take us.

I didn't care.

But I knew I missed being a Rebel, and running with the Gang. And they were all itching to get back into robbing and living like the royalty we were brought up to be. Not the lowly servants them Yankees yearned for our repute. And because of that, I feel I need to back up just a little bit, and tell you about the Youngers.

But this feather I'm afraid needs replaced, and my inkwell runs dry. I'll hit y'all up later. Time to rob another stage I suppose.

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TBC

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THANK YOU FOR READING

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ALWAYS BELIEVE

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© I Am MichAel