//------------------------------//
// A Tale Yet Not Told in Full 
// Story: Gonna Cut You Down 
// by Gapeagle 
//------------------------------//

	In the small town of Lord's Junction, a village that only existed because of the crossing of two railroad tracks, one going north and south, the other going east and west, there was a woman, a young woman that sit quietly in a cell of the sheriff's small, but unusually clean office. The office only had two cells and the other one was empty, save for some flies that flew through the barred windows. Their buzzing was so loud compared to the only other noise: the floating of the dust. The place was so quiet that it was as if Death himself as present, which to the woman, would not be a surprise. She was expecting him and his merciless hands of bones.

The woman could only stare at the floor, not caring to lift her eyes to anything, not even the ever-watching setting sun that tried to peek through between the bars of her cell's window. The world could have gone black as pitch for all she cared. Her hands were tight together, rubbing the grease on her fingers that she had gained from a rifle that had not been properly cleaned for years. She shifted her shoulders that were hidden under a slightly ripped light blue dress that she had made herself. Her legs dangled and were not long enough to reach the floor from the stiff bed she sat on. 

One of her thin legs ached like the devil. A flying bullet and ripped through the side of the calf. She deserved it and she knew it too. Under the ripped skirt was bandages that the sheriff had so politely put on her wound. A trail of bloodstains coated the dress, ruining its blue color with an ugly dark red. 

Death was on her hands. All she could do was wonder if she actually regretted her actions or that the feat of taking another's life was worth it. The dead man whose blood drained through the streets of the small town was a stranger in these parts. Not a soul knew him; not a soul cared about him. She cared though, as he was no stranger to her. It was hard for her to decide whether to be proud or to be disappointed.

A disturbance woke her from her heavy thoughts. The sheriff, a stout man with a friendly demeanor, had entered the office. His thick grey beard laid on his chest, covering the silver badge that made him an authority. Like her, he possessed no smile, no trace of humor or happiness. She watched him as he put his rotting brown hat on his cluttered desk. His solemn eyes glanced at the pictures and sketches of wanted criminals that roamed the badlands, or at least, used to roam it. Destructive liars, abusive gamblers, ruthless ramblers, seductive backbiters, and a vigilante that was familiar to the woman who sat in the cell.

The sheriff walked over to her cell, his belly jiggled with weight, making his shirt's buttons bulge a little bit. His red, welcoming cheeks could not cover his apparent sadness. He placed one monstrous arm of staunch muscle and flapping fat upon the wall next to the cell's iron door. The other hand absently scratched his balding head. There was not a harmful bone in his large body and the woman knew this. 

He cleared his throat from some food he had been snacking on. With a stroke of his wide beard, he cast his gaze to her feet, unwilling to look in her stone-cold eyes. They were not always so cold, but after years of trouble, the woman knew no other expression. It was like this that he spoke, breaking the silence by such a large margin that it almost hurt the ears of both him and her.

"I...I don't get many murderers that look like ya, Miss," he began, continuing to look downward.

The woman did not speak, making him even more nervous. He swallowed loudly, but he did not move away. He willingly braved through her chilling stare. 

"Miss, I jus' don't get it. What makes a lady like ya put all your bullets into a man walking from a bar?" he asked.

She kept her dead eyes on him. "I don't know where to start. All I can say is that God ordered it."

He was perplexed by her response. "Miss, if this is revenge, ya could have told me or someone else. Ya don't need to trouble yaself like this. I can't let you free or even dismiss the murder charges against ya. That man was on no wanted list. That man had no records of violence here. To anyone here, ya killed an innocent man in cold blood."

"He was not innocent. He was not innocent," she told him with a bit more energy. "That man was a blight on my very life."

"Ya don't have the right to wield justice like that," he shook his head. "It ain't right. A woman like ya has a lot to live for. I mean, ya could be my daughter's age. She's married and with a fine man that I am proud to call 'son.' Don't ya have family?"

For the first time, the woman chuckled. A smile revealing healthy teeth was on her red lips. It was not a laugh of enjoyment, but of finding humor in the darkest of places. Her chuckling lasted for ten or more seconds before she simply frowned, shaking her head slowly.

"I have no family. I don't even have friends. This was all I lived for and now my life's quest is done."

"Oh, don't be like that," he stammered, clearly upset about her words. "Everyone's got friends of some kind, even some they jus' haven't met yet. I jus' can't get you, Miss. What in this wide world would turn ya into this?"

"Oh, I've wondered that myself," the woman shrugged. "Several things, several things, I've concluded. I think I have narrowed it down, however, but to explain it will take all night."

"Well, I've got the time," the sheriff huffed.

"Then I might as well recall it all. Perhaps it will do me some good. Well, there was a woman in my life that I cared so much for. Yes, she was a guiding force. I had an honor to see her grow. There was no woman in the badlands quite like her. She was a skilled fighter, a tireless adventurer, and a courageous individual. She and I went through a lot of hardships, but through every tragedy we grew stronger. I never understood how she, or even I, did it. This woman was everything to me. Her name's Jack..."


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