Post by beckthegun on Dec 3, 2011 10:57:46 GMT -5
The young man stared into the open grave, at the coffin in it. In his mind played a scene, a scene of his father, wildly shooting his gun at Alliance officers in a wild firefight. His father had been a skilled gunman, but even the gunman Jonah Beck couldn't defeat a dozen elite Alliance soldiers. Riddled with bullets, he had fallen dead to the ground, his blood mixing with the earth he had worked so hard at the farm where he had raised his son.
Now, the last rays of sun he'd ever catch were heating the pinewood of the coffin. A laurel was placed on it, together with a rawhide holster containing a revolver - Jonah Beck's revolver.
Caldwell Beck walked up to the coffin. Tears were lining his beautiful face as he reached out and touched the pinewood surface. His heart was aching. He couldn't understand. Why? Why had it happened? Why did his father have to die? He shook his head in a mix of disgust and apathy as he fell to his knees, his forehead slowly leaning forward and touching the coffin.
"Why...?" He whispered. "Why did you have to die...?"
What would he do now? He had no job, no money, no family or friends - even the farm had been burnt to the ground. Everything he owned was in his own pockets. God had not even blessed him with a cause of vengeance born from his father's death - he had no thirst for more bloodshed, no thirst for vengeance. There was no hatred, only pain and a need...no, a painful urge, to seek answers to the questions born from his father's death.
Now, the last rays of sun he'd ever catch were heating the pinewood of the coffin. A laurel was placed on it, together with a rawhide holster containing a revolver - Jonah Beck's revolver.
Caldwell Beck walked up to the coffin. Tears were lining his beautiful face as he reached out and touched the pinewood surface. His heart was aching. He couldn't understand. Why? Why had it happened? Why did his father have to die? He shook his head in a mix of disgust and apathy as he fell to his knees, his forehead slowly leaning forward and touching the coffin.
"Why...?" He whispered. "Why did you have to die...?"
What would he do now? He had no job, no money, no family or friends - even the farm had been burnt to the ground. Everything he owned was in his own pockets. God had not even blessed him with a cause of vengeance born from his father's death - he had no thirst for more bloodshed, no thirst for vengeance. There was no hatred, only pain and a need...no, a painful urge, to seek answers to the questions born from his father's death.