I knocked, when after a few moments I got no answer, I knocked again.
Still no answer.
I know something is wrong.
And I am not alone.
I know the other five are right with me.
When we gathered at the saloon tonight, our singular concerns suddenly all magnified into one massive, "oh shit."
And as the person closest to him, I volunteered to go check on him first. The rest were to follow me later.
Pulling out my keys, I said a quick "please, don't let me walk in on him with some woman."
Quickly maneuvering my way through Vin's many locks, I opened the door.
I knew there was trouble, I just wasn't prepared for what I would find.
Crumpled papers covered everything. And Vin sat there amidst it, pistol in the left hand, and pen in the right. Staring at his gun.
Not even aware that I had just knocked, or opened the door.
I grabbed up a ball of paper and spread it open to see what it said.
Only a few lines, but through the dyslexic scrawl the message was stark.
I grabbed another, less text, similar mistakes, but the meaning came through clearly.
Over and over, I read the painful words written and trashed.
It strove a white cold blade of clarity through my soul.
Looming over the transfixed hurting soul of my brother.
In one smooth jerk, I had him disarmed and handcuffed.
And grabbing him by the chin, I brought his face up to ensnare his eyes with mine.
"NO! I WILL NOT LET YOU DO THIS! YOU LET ME BACK IN!
4. One Man's Trash
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