Prompts? - 2. Prompt #118

No matter what part of the world you are from there are myths and legends associated with it. From the leprechauns of Ireland, to the Gods of Norway, the dragons of China, or Paul Bunyan and his ox in the United States, myths and legends abound around us. Your task is to take one of these creatures from your part of the world and create something new.

(I call this a new perspective :P )

Pieces of Pecos

It was cold night in Texas. Bill laid on his bed of grass and dirt, staring at the empty sky. All the stars were gone, the diamonds of the night, given to Sue's greedy hands. There was one left, lonely and cold, but Bill hoped it would spawn some more. He heard the far off call of the coyotes, his brothers of the heart and his own yearned to join them. To run with the pack and howl at the moon and roam the wilderness in search of prey. He couldn't hate his brother, who had taken him and showed him who he really was, a man, not a beast, and who had given him the kind of things that the pack had lacked, like cooked meat and yeasty beer and the powerful feeling of a horse in between his legs. And the magic of another human body fused with his own, the warmth of another's skin pressed to his. He had been entranced with it, seduced by it, and now ensnared with it. He didn't want to be married. He wanted to run, roam, wild and free. But the temptress of the Rio Grande, that damn Sue with her leaping catfish and her endless eyes, had drawn him in and held him fast.

Shake, in his sack next to him, stirred uneasily, the rattle sending the barest whisper of sound through the desert still air and Bill swallowed a lump in his throat. Not yet wed, and already feeling nostalgic about his old life.

He didn't think. Like his brother had always accused him of. Even when they had just met and Bill was still convinced he was a coyote his brother had told him to think about why he didn't have a tail, or think about why he was able to walk on two legs, and talked Bill away from the herd that he still missed.

Widow-Maker had helped fill the void, as did Sue, briefly. And then he had blurted out the marriage proposal in a fit of passion, again not thinking, and Sue had accepted it before he even got all the clumsy words out.

And here he was. Cold, miserable and awake on the last day of his old life.

He rose and approached Widow-Maker, rested his hot face against the horses soft neck, breathing in the comforting scent of animal sweat, manure and dirt. Sue, always clean and damp from the river water, hated the way Bill perennially carried the horses smell with him.

He was tempted to jump on Widow-Maker and run off, find another challenge to conquer, another cougar or bear to fight, or a canyon to forge. Anything but to be trapped in marriage.

Alas, but running was for cowards and Bill was no coward. He wasn't happy about his rash decision, but he would be man enough to stick by it.

However, it was a long time before he left Widow-Maker's side to lie back down and stare back at the starless sky.

The next evening, he stood outside at twilight, watching his wife bounce. In some ways, they had been a good match. Sue shared his inability to think before acting, following her own impulses as recklessly as he did. She had been determined to ride Widow-Maker and no one, not even Bill himself, could sway her. Widow-Maker had not earned his name lightly, he was Bill's horse and would never allow himself be taken by another rider.

But Sue had approached Widow-Maker, ignoring all protests and warning and swung herself up on the saddle. Bill believed it was only her years of riding and roping catfish that kept her in the saddle as long as she had.

But Widow-Maker had bucked her so hard, he made sure her feet would never touch ground again. She had bounced, the bustle on her dress sending her airborne again, and didn't stop. It had been funny initially, except Sue kept gaining momentum, and more and more latitude that it became clear someone had to step in. Bill tried numerous times to lasso her. But Shake, who had never failed him before, turned uncooperative, coiling back when Bill would toss him, always falling short.

Bill had watched her endless ricochet, from heaven to earth and back again, until the moon was stained red from her blood. He didn't see how her body could have survived all the impact it had taken. If her back wasn't broken by now, her neck must be. She had stopped calling his name and sobbing hours ago.

He loaded his six-shooter gun and waited for the dawn's light. Took aim as she neared. For a split second he saw her eyes, endless pools of river water as she came racing back to him. He pulled the trigger and saw the relief blossom seconds before the bullet plowed into her. It knocked her off her current trajectory, and she hit the ground, rolled, and was approached by a group of cowherds that had gathered to watch the spectacle. He didn't join them. He turned and walked back to his horse, his useless rattlesnake draped around his neck.

No-one tried to stop him.

He had shot her. Had put her down like a dog or a lame horse. The alternative was too cruel, even for him. Bill rode aimlessly, hardly caring where Widow-Maker took him. He had been so distraught, so mired in an unknown grief, that had almost turned his gun on the horse himself. But he stayed his hand at the last minute. It wasn't his fault. The Widow-Maker was just being himself.

Bill didn't want to do anything. All the dreams he had thought he was giving up with Sue, were now meaningless. He again longed for his simple life from before. When he ran with the pack, he didn't know anything about jealousy, grief, sadness, or the type of love that extended past the simple affection for his litter-mates. He hadn't wanted marriage, but he had still loved Sue. She could be greedy, stubborn and callous, but so could he. She shared his reckless abandon and sense of humor. Shared his inability to back down from a challenge once it had been thrown. But there was still relief, which brought with it an uncomfortable feeling of guilt. He had wanted marriage but Widow-Maker and even Shake had made damn sure he wouldn't have one.

He just wanted to ride. Ride and ride and ride until the landscape blurred and pure exhaustion brought him and his horse down. Didn't want to think about Sue. About the way she bounced and the baleful red glare of the moon that night.

He didn't even look up until Widow-Maker started rearing and tossing his head. Bill tightened his grip on the reins and looked up as the roar filled his ears and the wind took his hat from his head and tore at his hair and clothes. Stared up at the raging tornado ripping its way through the Kansas plain. It was heading right towards him, destroying everything in it's past, throwing trees and entire houses around like they were a child's toys.

Bill kicked Widow-Maker into a gallop. He raced towards the twister, hearing Sue's laugher in his ears. Shake had already coiled himself up on his thigh, ready to be lassoed.

And for the first time in months, Pecos Bill smiled.