Writing is like a habit I cannot break, my mind is always writing during mercury retrograde, so I thought I’d humour it just once.
A cloak of dust clouded stagnantly in the breezless air. The sun shot it’s majestic rays through the air like Jesus himself, illuminating, with a powerful radiance, the tin top roofs of Main St. The largest building, white faux -front boasting extraordinary architectural details, was home of the town’s largest hotel. Erected only 3 years ago, the Jamesfront Hotel was a showcase of granduer and looked mightily out of place in this small western town.
Within the hotel, chandeliers and gas lamps completed the ambience of luxury, and in their wake, illuminated a grand, sweeping staircase. White wooden rail placed artistically upon incricate wrought-iron designs, laced the sides, the top opening widely to the second floor, another breathless beauty in itself. In the middle of this staircase our heroine was found.
Her fingers gripped the banister with not little intensity. She had been standing this way for some time, watching men carry heavy boxes and items, beds, drawers, trunks, chairs, down the stairs and out the door. The thought of this place being taken away was more than depressing. A hole was within her, a deep gulch, widening momentarily. She finally moved to wipe her nose with the cotton calico sleeve of her mid 1880s bustle gown. She stood short, only 5′2 or so, a slender dainty woman, as much a woman, for she looked to be only about 16 years of age but would proclaim herself a woman any day.
Her pale face was twisted in what appeared to be a grimace, but what was really an attempt to conceal the greif she felt. She had grown up here, her father having built the hotel. She had been so proud to work at the front desk greeting all different prumps of society. The first day of their opening she had worn many hats, cook, greeter, bookkeeper. She was quick minded and good with numbers. The position of front desk was one that stuck, and she loved to meet all the people and check them in to their respective rooms.
There was one guest in particular that stood out in her mind above all others, though she could not think of him at this particular moment when her life was consumed by this reality. A tall man, built strongly, wide shoulders tapered to a slender waist, a hard look in his icy blue eyes. Anyone he gazed upon felt chills, and she, in particular, had been moved by his peculiar ways.
( OK OK it was Ben Wade and he was hot. He was a total hot outlaw. He looked like Russel Crowe. No doubt. Dan Evans was there. He was hot too. He looked like Christian Bale. The whole gang was there since a man is nothing without his gang. No really, he aint. Its hot to have a gang. There was some gay love vibes coming from a lot of them but only implied since we dont want them to actually be gay. Not to mention the fact Russell Crowe is a little bit old and putting on a little weight. So we dont want to see them naked either. Ok, well lets say he has a 6 pack and Dan looks hot. Ok now its better they can be topless. This is a really good story.)
There you go, the beginning of my epic story. Since it’s a western, I thought I’d write western style. Like Louis Lamour and all.
