I had to write another monologue for my Creative Writing class. And, just like my previous Monologue, (which can be found here), it has no personal meaning to me, nor does it have any relevance to my life. Enjoy!
I felt terrible digging my spurs so deeply into the horse. I mean, just because I was in a hurry didn’t mean the horse had to suffer. I suppose I should probably feel worse for that deputy, though. Having his brains splattered all over the floor of the bank and all. But, I told him to put the gun down. It’s his fault for not listening to me. Now the bank vault is empty and I’m a few hundred-dollars richer.
It was a small town bank; the kind of town with more tumbleweeds than people. Even the “Sheriff” sign was barely hanging on to the top of the building. I was just passing through when I saw him—the deputy outside. The deputy who looked exactly like my Pa.
Pa was a real family-man. He loved to come home from the saloon—blind drunk and fists swinging at my Ma. Just before he hit her, he would lean down in front of me, as I was just a little tyke at the time, and say, “I reckon little girls like you, Sarah, ought to go wait in their room.” I would always run away as fast as I could. I hated to hear Ma cry.
My older brother took a swing at him once. That was probably the worst thing he could have done. Pa really gave him a thrashing after that. I’m surprised my brother lived, to be honest.
Not long after that, Pa came home with a gun. It was a beautiful, gleaming six-shooter. I loved the sound of the cylinder as it spun. The smooth sliding sound each round made as it comfortably slid into each designated slot. The clear click as the cylinder locked into place. However, he rarely showed it to us. He also refused to shoot it in front of us. I always thought that was odd. Being such a violent man and all, I figured he might love to show us how it worked.
A few years later, on my fifteenth birthday, actually, I finally got to see how it worked. Pa said he would take me out to the range and shoot it all by myself. I was so excited. I wanted to hold it the entire ride. But, when Ma returned from the general store, the wagon broke. The wheel broke off right in front of the house. Pa sure wasn’t happy. I was sad, yes. But Pa became consumed with rage. He grabbed the revolver from his dark, leather holster and shot her dead, right in front of us. I can still hear the crack of the gunshot echoing off the distant mountains.
My brother didn’t like that one bit. He grabbed for the revolver, but Pa shot him dead, too. Now not only was I not gonna be able to go to the range, but Ma and my brother were both dead. Well that didn’t sit well with me.
Pa leaned down in front of me, like he always did when things were bad, and told me it wouldn’t hurt. I didn’t know what he was talking about, though. I looked down and he had the barrel resting gently against my stomach. All I could do was smile. All these years, all the violence and he thought I was going down like that? Boy was he wrong. I snatched that gun and shot him dead, right in the forehead.
After looking at everyone around me, all the people sleeping the sleep of the dead, there wasn’t much left for me to do. So, I grabbed the box of revolver rounds from Pa’s nightstand and took off on his black stallion.
Now, here I am, stuck running from the law, from all these deputies that look just like Pa. And, all I have to show for the hard work of stopping men like my father is these sacks full of money, and the blood on my hands.