Post by phrostphyre on Jul 24, 2010 19:03:13 GMT -5
My father was an Irish immigrant, born in nineteen-eighty. He was bi-lingual, speaking both Irish Gaelic and English. He was big; he reached six foot five inches by age twenty, and could lift a full grown stag and carry it for five miles on his back without stopping. He had dark hair and gray eyes; the descendant of an Iberian invader of Hibernia. My mother was small, red headed, and had the greenest eyes I've ever seen. She only spoke Irish, born in nineteen-eighty- one. They both immigrated to the United States in nineteen-ninety-nine, settling in the mountains of North Carolina. They met at the airport in Ireland; he served as her translator. I was born in 2000. I'm 23 now. I have my mother's eyes, and my father's build and hair.
He farmed and was a highwayman; he used a motorcycle instead of a horse, but kept the pistol and sword part. He taught me how to ride, use a gun, and sword fight. I was seven when my mother died from food poisoning. My father gave up on farming after she died, and we were highwaymen together. I could read, do basic math, and knew every trick there was to hide in a forest, knew how to fight, knew everything my father knew. He taught me how to kill men, how to rob a person driving along the highway or Interstate, and how to disapper for months so as to let the heat blow over. We dressed in kilts and didn't kill if at all possible. My sword was a broadsword with a basket hilt, and my pistol was an 1873 Army Peacemaker, second generation. After my father died in 2016, I took his pistol as my own, and abandoned my old one, a Smith&Wesson. I had wandered, keeping the family tradition alive. I only carried my gun and sword.
Then the Chinese invaded Russia. The US sided with the Ruskies; we all lost when someone unleashed a nuclear strike on Russia and China. America, fearing the same would happen to them, withdrew from the war. It didn't work. New York City, Washington, DC and LA were hit. I was in the Smokey Mountains, living off the land and laying low after I robbed a Senator. I emerged after three years. American civilisation had fallen. There was no law, there was no order. Men had started small towns, and ruled them through terror and violence.
I had been in a ruined town when I stumbled upon a library. I entered, and walked through the shelves of books. I found a Bible, and sat there and read the entire thing in two days. God had decided to enter my life. Who was I, Micheal Ua' Conchobhar, to refuse the Lord God? I saddled my horse that day, for all cars had ceased to work, and went wandering, carrying only a sword, pistol, and Bible.
I wandered for two years, gunfighting, swordfighting, and trying to find a good man. I never laid with a whore, found a wife, or made friends. My life was a lonely one, and I had no gold to pay them. I passed the time by reading my Bible and thinking. I had caches of rounds for my pistol all over the Smokeys. I was like a squirrel. Then one day in 2020, I met her. She was beautiful. I was covered in scars; bullet holes, sword slashes, whipping scars, and one on my face, going in a line down one eye. She was the daughter of a man who had built his life by killing and robbing. I was drinking whiskey in a bar; I had defended it from bandits, and the grateful manager was letting me drink free. Their bodies were piled outside, waiting for disposal. I had given up on kilts and was wearing black jeans I had found in the rubble of a department store, a black undershirt, black hat, and black duster. My horse was tethered outside, drinking out of a water trough. Candlelight danced along my glass as I drank. I had nowhere to go; why not stop for a while?
"Are you the man who fought off those bad men threatening my father's store?" So she had a voice, and was interested in me. I shrugged. What was there to say? I had ridden out of the sun like a demon, gun blazing? There was nothing to say.
"If you don't answer me, Daddy will have you whipped!" I shrugged again; being whipped was nothing new to me. Let him. I'd not let innocent people die, not if I had a choice.
"Let him whip me. Do I look like I care?" I was covered head to toe. Only my face showed, and even then, barely for the collar on the trench coat was popped. I didn't care. I had my Bible, my gun, and my sword. I had sixty spare rounds for my Peacemaker. It was already loaded; I practiced pulling it every morning with weights on my arms. I could pull with either hand and fire in two seconds. If her 'Daddy' sent his hired guns after me I could take care of them.
"He wanted to invite you to dinner, you pig." I glanced up. Dinner? At their mansion? This would be a chance to actually eat real food, not venison or boar. I accepted gratefully, then watched as she left. I needed to find the nearest stream, shave, and bathe.
He farmed and was a highwayman; he used a motorcycle instead of a horse, but kept the pistol and sword part. He taught me how to ride, use a gun, and sword fight. I was seven when my mother died from food poisoning. My father gave up on farming after she died, and we were highwaymen together. I could read, do basic math, and knew every trick there was to hide in a forest, knew how to fight, knew everything my father knew. He taught me how to kill men, how to rob a person driving along the highway or Interstate, and how to disapper for months so as to let the heat blow over. We dressed in kilts and didn't kill if at all possible. My sword was a broadsword with a basket hilt, and my pistol was an 1873 Army Peacemaker, second generation. After my father died in 2016, I took his pistol as my own, and abandoned my old one, a Smith&Wesson. I had wandered, keeping the family tradition alive. I only carried my gun and sword.
Then the Chinese invaded Russia. The US sided with the Ruskies; we all lost when someone unleashed a nuclear strike on Russia and China. America, fearing the same would happen to them, withdrew from the war. It didn't work. New York City, Washington, DC and LA were hit. I was in the Smokey Mountains, living off the land and laying low after I robbed a Senator. I emerged after three years. American civilisation had fallen. There was no law, there was no order. Men had started small towns, and ruled them through terror and violence.
I had been in a ruined town when I stumbled upon a library. I entered, and walked through the shelves of books. I found a Bible, and sat there and read the entire thing in two days. God had decided to enter my life. Who was I, Micheal Ua' Conchobhar, to refuse the Lord God? I saddled my horse that day, for all cars had ceased to work, and went wandering, carrying only a sword, pistol, and Bible.
I wandered for two years, gunfighting, swordfighting, and trying to find a good man. I never laid with a whore, found a wife, or made friends. My life was a lonely one, and I had no gold to pay them. I passed the time by reading my Bible and thinking. I had caches of rounds for my pistol all over the Smokeys. I was like a squirrel. Then one day in 2020, I met her. She was beautiful. I was covered in scars; bullet holes, sword slashes, whipping scars, and one on my face, going in a line down one eye. She was the daughter of a man who had built his life by killing and robbing. I was drinking whiskey in a bar; I had defended it from bandits, and the grateful manager was letting me drink free. Their bodies were piled outside, waiting for disposal. I had given up on kilts and was wearing black jeans I had found in the rubble of a department store, a black undershirt, black hat, and black duster. My horse was tethered outside, drinking out of a water trough. Candlelight danced along my glass as I drank. I had nowhere to go; why not stop for a while?
"Are you the man who fought off those bad men threatening my father's store?" So she had a voice, and was interested in me. I shrugged. What was there to say? I had ridden out of the sun like a demon, gun blazing? There was nothing to say.
"If you don't answer me, Daddy will have you whipped!" I shrugged again; being whipped was nothing new to me. Let him. I'd not let innocent people die, not if I had a choice.
"Let him whip me. Do I look like I care?" I was covered head to toe. Only my face showed, and even then, barely for the collar on the trench coat was popped. I didn't care. I had my Bible, my gun, and my sword. I had sixty spare rounds for my Peacemaker. It was already loaded; I practiced pulling it every morning with weights on my arms. I could pull with either hand and fire in two seconds. If her 'Daddy' sent his hired guns after me I could take care of them.
"He wanted to invite you to dinner, you pig." I glanced up. Dinner? At their mansion? This would be a chance to actually eat real food, not venison or boar. I accepted gratefully, then watched as she left. I needed to find the nearest stream, shave, and bathe.