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Look
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By Heather F.
| Disclaimers: Not mine, no money made (here
or in RL) Acknowledgements: Beth's March Challenge - use a poem for the basis of a story. The story can be any AU and the poem doesn't have to be apart of the story and it can be the creation of the author or someone else's work (credit due where it belongs however) Warnings: My English grammar or lack there of….and This is my first attempt at poetry. |
| Look in the Mirror In this world of shifting greys And in this town of brutal haze Its sometimes hard to raise your head Its sometimes hard to fight your dread. But I look in the mirror And what do I see? Mocking green eyes Staring back at me. In this world you stand alone No real friends and no real home When a constant frown mars your face And there seems to be no lasting grace. I look in the mirror And what do I see? A leering smile Staring back at me. In this world you sometimes drown And all you want is solid ground. You search the sea for any land But all you find is shifting sand I look in the mirror And what do I see? A gambler's determination Staring back at me. When your dreams tumble down in a heap You hide your tears and try not to weep. Knowing its easier to walk away. Knowing its easier to fade away. But… I look in the mirror And what do I see? The strength of a friend Staring back at me. When this world gets you down. And all you can do is wear a frown. When life deals you nothing but dread And sometimes you think you are better off dead I look in the mirror And what do I see? A golden tooth Staring back at me. Sometimes its hard not to fade away Sometimes its hard to keep the world at bay. And You hang your head and want to cry But all that's left is a tired sigh. I look in the mirror And what do I see? A conman's cunning Staring back at me. In this world full of toil and woe. In this life of constant sorrow. You face your demons all alone You laugh at the hurts that cut to the bone. And you think you've hidden your wealth of pain You think you've hidden your contempt and disdain But I've looked in the mirror And I've seen The silent pain in your eyes and the guiless smile that never dies. I've seen the distrust that always lurks and I've noticed the words that always hurt So look in the mirror That, I know you can do And take notice… Of Six strong friends staring back at you. Because I have looked in the same mirror And what did I see? The same six friends staring back at me. -VT. |
Ezra Standish held the missive in his cut and swollen
fingers as he leaned back against the chilly stones of his cell.
They were here.
Despite the harsh words, the angry shoving and the liquor fueled fury that
had spewed forth from him only nights ago, they were coming.
He worked the paper edges against themselves and closed his swollen, blackened
eyes against the pain that welled from his heart. He had pushed and shoved,
had battled and fought and had left with his anger lacing his tone as whisky
stole his judgment.
He had staggered from the saloon ignoring Inez's pained expression and he
had reveled in Larabee's building fury.
He had rode out of Four Corners very much his own man, independent and uncaring
of the others he left behind. He had taken his last undisguised look of scorn
from the citizens of Four Corners. He had accepted his last unanswered curt
remark from the up standing populace of the surrounding area.
He had taken his last perceived look of distrust from Larabee and the others
and had left.
He had left with heated words on his liquored breath, and blood on his knuckles.
He had simply walked out of Four Corners….. and into the arms of a brutal
backwater town on the near edge of extinction.
He had pulled one too many cons, dealt one too many cards from the bottom
of the deck. He did it simply because he knew he was that good and because
he could do so without the disdainful looks from his fellow peace officers.
And he did. He had swaggered and laughed, conned and cheated himself right
into a frightful beating and a jail cell.
And he had rotted here for days, fed haphazardly, watered less but not ignored
nearly enough.
With no hope for rescue, no friends to watch his back, he took his punishment
with as much glib and fierce sarcasm as he could while he still had teeth.
And in the darkest hour of night, when his ribs would take no more abuse,
and his spirit lay on the verge of breaking, through the high barred window
a small scrap of paper dropped onto his battered shoulder. It tumbled onto
the vermin laden blanket that brought its own form of torture. He had stared
at the folded creased piece of paper no more than the size of a gold coin.
He had stared at it, and even a time or two had reached a tentative hand
toward it only to retract it, unable to explain his blind fears in the middle
of the night.
With swollen blunted fingers bruised and twisted, discolored and marred,
he fumbled in picking the small paper up and worked with single minded
determination to unfold the missive.
He had smiled almost to himself, JD would do something similar, fold a piece
of paper so small. With a longing in his heart, created by his own verbal
brutality, he looked to the high window hoping to catch a glimpse of his
young friend, knowing full well JD would not be coming to his rescue.
No one would. He, himself, had made sure of it with his parting viciousness
just a few nights back.
With shaking hands and through eyes swollen to slits and fuzzy vision he
read the words of a friend that he had thought he had lost, or worse, destroyed
forever.
He leaned against the moldy stones let his damp head rest against the unforgiving
wall. The moisture seep through the thin shirt and into skin that radiated
heat though muscles shook with a chill all their own. He held the paper tightly
while split and swollen lips cracked themselves into a slow grin. Though
the dimples lay hidden beneath the bruises and discoloration, the macabre
smile still glowed with embarrassment and relief.
They had come.
He fisted the paper in his hand and raised an awkwardly clenched fist to
his forehead as he leaned back against the unrelenting wall and battled down
the hitching breaths that fired lancing pain through his chest.
They were out there, just behind the wall perhaps, at least one of them,
maybe three or even six.
They were here.
Standish dropped his shaking hand and slid sideways onto the sagging cot.
His hunger and thirst had long ago disappeared. He lay on his side and faced
out toward his cell and beyond that to the thick woodened door that kept
him isolated from the rest of humanity.
He no longer noticed the stink of vomit, that of his own and those poor fools
that had preceded him. In the twilight of glimmering hope, he faded in and
out of awareness trying to listen for clues over the thundering of his own
pulse.
They had come.
With his note balled tightly in a twisted mangled grip, he waited shivering
in the breezy night for the others.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Shit…watch his head."
Standish tried to move, to react. The cot disappeared out from under him
a wind blew under his side. He wrestled back the best he could, knowing he
had failed as miserably has he had at friendship. Something cinched him tighter,
bringing him closer to a soft pliable wall that radiated heat and a heart
beat.
"Easy brother, don't fight me now," The deep words vibrated through the wall
and the cinching grip tightened.
He fisted the letter tighter, trying to hide it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The creaking and rocking of a wagon muddled its way through
his befuddled mind. A cold wind lashed across his chest and stomach. He curled
instinctively way from it.
"Hold on Ezra, don't go movin' on me yet," Nathan's tone held a note of sympathy
and tension, "Buck put that blanket under his shoulders, it'll keep'im warm
til I'm done with his belly.
"Damn, that has got to hurt." The awe in JD's voice had Standish wondering
, 'what must hurt?'. Then pressure on his abdomen sent fiery pain shooting
across his midsection and down to his leg. He moaned and tried to draw his
legs up.
"I know Ezra, I know….one more stitch and we'll be done."
"What about 'is ribs and hands, Nathan?" JD's worried question was nearly
drowned in the rocking of the wagon.
"Ain't gonna forget them either JD, let me git one thing done at a time."
A sudden jolt and an even more violent lurch sent the occupants of the wagon
flying into one another.
Standish never heard Josiah's apology through the flap of the wagon nor did
he see Chris as he held his black gelding in check so he could peer inside
the back of the covered wagon and ask , "He alright?"
The gambler missed it all; his release from jail, the wagon ride home and
even the indignity of having Josiah and Nathan carry him up to the clinic.
Instead, he floated in a cushioned zone, a haze of greys and pain and murky
reflexes and befuddled senses.
At times the pain was sharp and nearly sparked him to full awareness and
each time in those infrequent, random moments of clarity, he found one of
the six near by.
Conversation was nonexistent and dialogues, amusing or poignant were lost
long before they reached the black and blue ears of the gambler but the comfort
was all the same.
The paper lay crinkled but folded under the emerald coat draped carefully
over a neat pile of clean clothing across Nathan's room in the corner.
The note remained unread, its privacy protected as fiercely as the man in
the cot, or the others that made up the seven.
Time passed and waking moments lasted longer than those sleeping turns induced
by Nathan's herbal teas. Conversations were not as one sided as they had
been and stories became raunchier and funnier as bruises dulled and melded
their once brilliant well demarcated colors.
Late afternoon, as Standish lay propped against pillows, cajoling and nursing
bruised fingers to do his bidding with the cards, Larabee entered the room.
Standish flashed a green eye upward and then cut quickly back to the deck.
Larabee had been scarce at best, nearly a ghost in the fuzzy haze that had
hallmarked Ezra's earliest memories of being back in Four Corners.
"Next time tell someone where your heading too when you lite out of town,
don't care who ya tell, jist let somebody know,….. next time we'll git
there quicker," Larabee turned and headed for the door but stopped and turned
back around, " 'Know it was the whiskey talkin' that other night…"
Standish moved the cards quicker from hand to hand, almost in tempo with
his heartbeat. Heat rose, flushing his cheeks giving him more color than
he had days.
Larabee smiled half heartedly to himself, "Its done and over with…far
as we're all concerned."
The door opened and closed and spurs jingled fading with each step back toward
the saloon.
Standish let lose a careful sigh and closed his eyes. He leaned his head
back against the wood wall and controlled his breathing, feeling every stitch
pull. The cards lay forgotten in sore fingers. Discomfiture and humility
vied for dominance as an enveloping sense of warmth coddled and threatened
him at the same time.
Once again he was indebted to these men, though he understood the price,
he didn't know how to repay them.
The end.
Comments: flah7@tds.net