Skyler veered off the dusty road and stepped onto the porch of the saloon. With him as usual were his weapons; a revolver holstered on his left hip, his samurai sword called ?Wang? sheathed on his right.
Slowly he pushed open the batwing doors, his long black hair and white silk shirt sparkling in the sunlight that shone down upon his back. He froze at the sight of a room full of men, who all seemed to notice him at once. Their lively chatter cut off abruptly. Chairs and stools screeched on the floorboards as their occupiers turned to look at the new entry.
?What kind of idiot carries a gun and a sword?? one man shouted rudely at him.
?Are you a girl or a boy?? heckled another.
Laughter erupted from the people scattered about the tables. They were folks with an agenda similar to his own ? they seemed to have nothing better to do with their afternoon than to sit around and get sloshed.
The disrespect they had so openly directed toward him was due to only one thing ? Skyler looked different. The men here were grizzled fossils; dirty, ragged, scruffy-bearded cowboys and miners and farmers. Our subject, a boy of eighteen, was clean and well-groomed. The dust that floated about didn?t seem to cling to him. Nor did he appear to sweat, although the temperature was high. He was also oddly lean, as though he hadn?t seen a decent meal in a while. Another oddity about Skyler ? while he was obviously a human of the male persuasion ? he had a tone of femininity about him. Smooth, tanned, imperfection-less skin, a perfectly oval shaped face, and such long shiny black hair.
After the men had completed their condescending ganders, conversation began to resume, and the boy made his way to the bar, moving warily.
?What?ll it be?? the bartender brayed sardonically. ?I ain?t got no breast milk. You?ll have to scamper back to your mama for that. Want some apple juice??
?Whiskey,? replied the boy.
The man snorted and filled him a glass, as though he thought Skyler wouldn?t make it beyond the first sip. When the boy emptied the glass with a series of consecutive swallows and asked for another, the tender reluctantly filled it and pointed to a small table in the corner. ?You sit over there.?
Skyler turned his head in that direction. There was a short table in the corner, where sat three strange-looking characters. ?Why can?t I sit at the bar??
That was when all the men within earshot who were currently sitting at the bar turned to glare at him coldly. ?That table over there is where the freaks sit,? replied the tender. ?You?re a freak. I don?t want you mucking up my bar.?
He was uncomfortably aware of approximately eight men, including the tender, still giving him the ?evil eye.? Offering no argument, he set a couple of coppers on the counter, took his whiskey and went to the corner table. ?Keep the refills comin?,? he muttered. The bartender sneered at him.
When Skyler reached the table where he was to sit, he gave the last remaining chair an uneasy look. The table and chairs were so short it was almost like sitting on the ground. The table was approximately two feet off the floor, the chairs but one. It seemed the proprietors enjoyed making a spectacle out of their ?freak? patrons, forcing them to sit at a table that invited ridicule.
The room had grown quiet once more. Another glance at the patrons seated on the main floor revealed that everyone was again watching him with great interest. Finally, as he sat down, one of the patrons muttered an unintelligible comment, and a roar of laughter rose up from the crowd. The boy ignored it. He glanced cautiously from face to face to face of the three folks sharing his table.
It was obvious the three occupants didn?t have a full set of wits between them. Dumbly, their mouths agape, they gawked at him as openly as the others. Skyler didn?t need an introduction in order to apply them with labels. Their roles in life were obvious.
To his left sat a woman who was obviously a whore, except she was the sort whose services a man only enlisted if he was extremely desperate. She had only one eye and only one hand, and half of her face was covered with scar tissue from third degree burns.
Directly across from him sat a retarded man, his dull, bug eyes staring vacantly at his toys on the table. A dead mouse was incarnated by the man?s left hand, while his right animated a cat?s jawbone. He used the jawbone to relentlessly chase the mouse from one side of the table to the other.
To his right was a man who was probably the saloon?s janitor. His hands were red and dry and chapped, most likely from constant contact with soap suds. The two teeth that remained to him were on the verge of rotting out. His face held a permanent, hideous, drooling grin.
?You da purtiest gal I eva seen!? squealed the janitor in delight, squinting at Skyler.
The boy fought off a grin. ?Thanks,? he answered, taking small sips of his whiskey.
To be continued . . .
Slowly he pushed open the batwing doors, his long black hair and white silk shirt sparkling in the sunlight that shone down upon his back. He froze at the sight of a room full of men, who all seemed to notice him at once. Their lively chatter cut off abruptly. Chairs and stools screeched on the floorboards as their occupiers turned to look at the new entry.
?What kind of idiot carries a gun and a sword?? one man shouted rudely at him.
?Are you a girl or a boy?? heckled another.
Laughter erupted from the people scattered about the tables. They were folks with an agenda similar to his own ? they seemed to have nothing better to do with their afternoon than to sit around and get sloshed.
The disrespect they had so openly directed toward him was due to only one thing ? Skyler looked different. The men here were grizzled fossils; dirty, ragged, scruffy-bearded cowboys and miners and farmers. Our subject, a boy of eighteen, was clean and well-groomed. The dust that floated about didn?t seem to cling to him. Nor did he appear to sweat, although the temperature was high. He was also oddly lean, as though he hadn?t seen a decent meal in a while. Another oddity about Skyler ? while he was obviously a human of the male persuasion ? he had a tone of femininity about him. Smooth, tanned, imperfection-less skin, a perfectly oval shaped face, and such long shiny black hair.
After the men had completed their condescending ganders, conversation began to resume, and the boy made his way to the bar, moving warily.
?What?ll it be?? the bartender brayed sardonically. ?I ain?t got no breast milk. You?ll have to scamper back to your mama for that. Want some apple juice??
?Whiskey,? replied the boy.
The man snorted and filled him a glass, as though he thought Skyler wouldn?t make it beyond the first sip. When the boy emptied the glass with a series of consecutive swallows and asked for another, the tender reluctantly filled it and pointed to a small table in the corner. ?You sit over there.?
Skyler turned his head in that direction. There was a short table in the corner, where sat three strange-looking characters. ?Why can?t I sit at the bar??
That was when all the men within earshot who were currently sitting at the bar turned to glare at him coldly. ?That table over there is where the freaks sit,? replied the tender. ?You?re a freak. I don?t want you mucking up my bar.?
He was uncomfortably aware of approximately eight men, including the tender, still giving him the ?evil eye.? Offering no argument, he set a couple of coppers on the counter, took his whiskey and went to the corner table. ?Keep the refills comin?,? he muttered. The bartender sneered at him.
When Skyler reached the table where he was to sit, he gave the last remaining chair an uneasy look. The table and chairs were so short it was almost like sitting on the ground. The table was approximately two feet off the floor, the chairs but one. It seemed the proprietors enjoyed making a spectacle out of their ?freak? patrons, forcing them to sit at a table that invited ridicule.
The room had grown quiet once more. Another glance at the patrons seated on the main floor revealed that everyone was again watching him with great interest. Finally, as he sat down, one of the patrons muttered an unintelligible comment, and a roar of laughter rose up from the crowd. The boy ignored it. He glanced cautiously from face to face to face of the three folks sharing his table.
It was obvious the three occupants didn?t have a full set of wits between them. Dumbly, their mouths agape, they gawked at him as openly as the others. Skyler didn?t need an introduction in order to apply them with labels. Their roles in life were obvious.
To his left sat a woman who was obviously a whore, except she was the sort whose services a man only enlisted if he was extremely desperate. She had only one eye and only one hand, and half of her face was covered with scar tissue from third degree burns.
Directly across from him sat a retarded man, his dull, bug eyes staring vacantly at his toys on the table. A dead mouse was incarnated by the man?s left hand, while his right animated a cat?s jawbone. He used the jawbone to relentlessly chase the mouse from one side of the table to the other.
To his right was a man who was probably the saloon?s janitor. His hands were red and dry and chapped, most likely from constant contact with soap suds. The two teeth that remained to him were on the verge of rotting out. His face held a permanent, hideous, drooling grin.
?You da purtiest gal I eva seen!? squealed the janitor in delight, squinting at Skyler.
The boy fought off a grin. ?Thanks,? he answered, taking small sips of his whiskey.
To be continued . . .