sparky lightbourne
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heel on the shovelHeel On The Shovel.
Jed wipes the sweat from his brow, wipes it from his stinging eyes his hand leaving a black smudge in its wake.. A swollen yellow sun hung immediately oven like overhead taunting him with blazing rays. His heel drives the shovel into the parched topsoil and he flings another load of dirt onto the growing pile over his shoulder. The wiry framed labourer, naked except baggy stained dungarees and big black boots straightens up and reaches for his bottle of now hot stale water.
He looks around, eyes narrow against the noonday glare.
A cloud of dust, and a loud arrogantly buzzing engine noise are approaching from the north, from the town, along the straight black single lane highway. A convertible sedan, soft top up to provide shade to the cars single occupant comes to a halt at the side of the road. Jed recognises that car, with its distinctive number plate. The driver side door opens to reveal the bulky well fed figure of Mr Hank. Henry J Miller; the town boss, Mayor and County Commissioner. The modern day American equivalent of a local warlord or lord of the manor.
The profusely sweating fat man, his white linen suit and broad brimmed fedora, stained with sweat patches, yellow urine traces at his armpits and crotch, even on the crown of his hat strolls with artificial casualness up to Jed.
Jed could see the calculating contemptuous look on the larger man’s face.
“What you doin’ diggin’ out here boy? I don’t recall seein’ that this is your land, this here is redskin land. It aint for either of us.”
He has pulled a large gingham handkerchief from his pocket as he says this, and is now using it to soak the sweat from round his grubby off white collar. Jed says nothing, he looks sullenly at his boots, and runs a hand through his uncut prematurely greying hair.
“Come to think of it boy, you don’t even own your own house, do you? Hell those rags you’re wearin’ probably came from the porch of the mission.” He laughs richly at his own joke.
Jed still says nothing.
“Cat got your tongue, come on tell me what you’re doin’ ?”
Hank takes a large step forward as he speaks swinging as he comes, a meaty ham of a fist thuds into Jed’s empty stomach, and the scrawny man drops to the ground, clutching at his guts and coughing saliva.
“Now come on, you goin’ to tell me, or am I going to get rough?” He says this in a falsely kind voice, with just a little bit of wheedle.
Jed looks up at him as he crouches next to the hole, his hand is resting on the shaft of the fallen shovel, there is hate glittering in those sockets. He reaches into his pocket, still not saying anything and draws out a small bundle wrapped in a dirty paper napkin. Releasing his hand from the shovel he gently unfolds the package, to reveal its contents. Hank leans forward and bends closer with his hands on his knees. It is a dead rat nestled pathetically in the other man’s hands. Hank sneers in contempt.
“You burying your pet, out here on Indian land.” He exclaims loudly.
“Jesus Christ, I’ve seen it all now. You think I’m as stupid as you?” Shouting now, with a screech in his voice.
Jed flinches back, and starts wrapping the pathetic parcel back up, shielding it protectively.
“You don’t need no six foot hole for a fucking rat. Just you wait there boy, I’m going to make you talk.”
With that Hank turns back towards the car and strides away, muttering under his breath about his bullwhip.
Then the long handled shovel cracks down against his big round skull with a wet crunch. Hank drops onto his knees a look of shock on his chubby ruddy face, a second crunch and he falls face first into the filth. A pool of piss forms between his splayed legs, the mayor is still breathing in wheezing irregular breaths. Jed grinning now his raggedy boothill silhouette of a mouth a rictus of pleasure steps over the prone man. He puts his heel on the shovel and drives it into the other man’s neck, wine dark blood spills out and is gratefully sucked into the dry soil.
Two hours later and Jed is walking back into town, the shovel slung jauntily over his shoulder, a tuneless whistle escaping from between those broken and yellowed teeth. There’s two hundred and twenty bucks in his pocket now, replacing the rat which was hurled carelessly into the pit after the mayor. That’s more money than Jed has ever seen in his life. He is going to get wasted and fucked, a bottle of bourbon from the bar, then he’d go and get himself a white woman at Ma’ Macready’s. Normally even the nigger whores wouldn’t give him the time of day. Still he’d get a wash and shave first and buy a new shirt . Tonight Jed would play act at being a travelling salesman out on the town.
Tomorrow would be another day and who knew what that might bring.
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wraeth
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Heh - that's a bit Stephen King that one  Carry on ....
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sparky lightbourne
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cheers, it's actually an extract from a much larger thing i'm working on about a dead end one horse town in west texas
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wraeth
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Right, I wondered whether you'd just started it but it's an extract. Tis  More 
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sparky lightbourne
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well i only wrote that bit yesterday, the rest of its all over the place at the moment fragments and that
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