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Member
Join Date: Jan 2007
Location: Christchurch, New Zealand
Gender: Male
Posts: 15
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The Farmer and his Son (working title)
I was extremely bored, and so taking some boredom inspiration, slapped this together. Its extremely rough in its presentation, but I would like some input, if anyone is willing.
The creaking of the rocking chair was the only thing disturbing the quiet of the night, as the tired farmer took an opportunity to enjoy his tobacco pipe on his front porch. As the night wore on, and the pipe burned out, the symphony of the night-time creatures began. Chirping, screeching, scratching, and howling broke the dead of night as the farmer looked on, out towards the unknown. Suddendly the door to his home opens and a man moves to join the farmer on his porch, occupying the second chair. Lighting his pipe, he revels in the sounds of night, as the calls are produced and answered by the nocturnal orchestra.
“I think tomorrow we are going to have to put that bull down,” mutters the farmer
“Why you think that?” questions the man, who in a sudden burst of match light is revealed to be the farmer’s son.
“Can you really blame old Boris for giving him a good gore?” says the son, as he props his boots on the railing.
“Boris was the more experienced idiot, he should of known that his time was up as the head of the herd,” answers the Farmer.
“You would think that after 20 years he would of learn…” the son stops, as the orchestra in the background stops its symphony, and other sounds join in, ones not heard in the night.
The sound of disturbed horses, coming from the barn, take up a new note, higher pitched, but more angry than afraid, as if something suddenly awoken it.
“Oh hell, if it’s those Landis boys again trying to steal something I’m going to pump them full of lead,” the Farmer says as he puts his boots on, stubs out his pipe, and fixes his hat, “Robbie, go get the shotguns, and let us settle this crap once and for all.”
Collecting the shotguns from the gun cabinet, the Farmer and his son leave the normality of their porch, lighting a lantern and heading for the barn. The sound of crushed stone echoes across the paddock, adding a new note to the renewed sounds of the night, as the men approach the barn’s front door the light splashes across something completely unexpected, a blood trail. Stopping up short, the Father and son look at each other, and take the opportunity to prepare them for a confrontation which they didn’t intend to have. The Farmer upon shining his light on the door and seeing it ajar, he steps in front of the son and calls into the blackness.
“You there in the barn, come out with hands where I can see them,” yells the Farmer, as he stands patiently outside. Muffled movement came from within the structure, as if several people were moving into different positions. The Farmer, wondering what the hell is going on in his barn, takes one step forward, and is rewarded with a barrel pressed to
the back of his head.
“I would slowly place the gun on the ground, and put your hands on your head,” says the shrouded stranger. The Farmer, for probably the first time of his life, is scared shitless, to the point of almost doing something stupid. He takes a firmer grip on his gun, ready to lunge, when the barrel suddenly disappears from his head, denying him a point of reference.
“I’m not out to harm you sir, but if you don’t put the gun down, your son here might see more blood than he has already,” says the stranger, in a deadly serious tone. Resigning himself to his fate, the Farmer puts the shotgun down on the crushed stone, and gives it a swift kick forward. As the gun slides away, he feels hands feeling all over the place, checking his entire attire, doing God knew what. Just as quickly as the hands appeared, they disappeared, replaced by movement as his masked assailant came around him to face the Farmer. The Gunman gestures to his companion, who holds the son under guard, to bring him forward. Several masked strangers surround the Farmer and his son, in a loose-like formation, which suggests to the Farmer, that they see no threat from the pair.
“Sir, I want you to look at something for me, before you go crazy,” says the Gunman, “then I may need you to run some errands for me.”
The Gunman takes the lantern from the Farmer and leads him into his barn, where he approaches a horse stall, apparently commandeered from one of his horses. Pointing into the stall, the Farmer looks in, seeing a sight which makes his stomach do turns. Inside the stall are two men, both bleeding, one which looks more serious than the other, propped on the piles of hay from within. Several armed members of the party are tending to them the best they can, but their skills are lacking, uncoordinated of someone only trained in the basic skills required to save their life.
“B...Boy,” stutters the Farmer, “go tell your mother to bring blankets, and then go to town, take Tolks here, and get the Doctor, and the Captain.”
“Yes Sir,” says the Son, as he turns and races toward the house.
Turning towards the strangers, the Farmer utters one thing which will be repeated several times that night, “What the hell happened?”
Last edited by Noob1ett : 06-11-2008 at 06:29 PM.
Reason: errors in spacing started driving me crazy
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