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Write a short description of a fictional character from an Old West story.
Jackson leaned back in the old rocking chair, tipped his black hat forward and ran his hands over his four day stubble. Under the porch he was protected from the sun except for that one shaft coming through the shade where a broken shingle hung down and allowed a beam to glare into his eyes. He swung his feet up on to the old table and lay his scatter gun across his lap; far in the distance he could see the dust clouds rising. They were coming, and he was ready...
Sorry, westerns aren't my scene, but it's a bit of fun, I can't write a character unless I have him doing something.
Billy was nervous, he licked his fingers and ran them through his hair, wiping them on his grubby cream apron. It wasn't easy running the only General Store in town. His pockmarked face twitched as his muddy brown eyes scanned the door and windows of his shop apprehensively. He was not sure how long they would keep him holed up in here, but he didn't plan to find out. His chubby fingers reached down desperately for the trapdoor just as the front door of his shop slammed off its hinges in an explosion of sound.
Hehe don't know about my one either, but it was fun to write!
As the wagon train rolled into St. Louis, Sarah welcomed the reprieve. She was tired, worn, dirty and hungry. For the first time in her young life, she felt nothing like a lady. She knew her Grandmother had been right in advising her to go west. A war was coming to her homeland. She had skills to draw upon and make a new life for herself, away from the coming turmoil. She wondered now, which was the greater evil, becoming something new or defending what she was.
She would do as she had been instructed, guard her monies, look about the towns for opportunities. Seamstresses, innkeepers, school teachers would be in demand in the growing western settlements.
As Sarah disembarked the wagon, he caught her eye. Tall, bearded, cloked in his longtail split leather coat, he was the very image of the west.
Marshall was a man of great stride, announcing his own authority even before he entered the building. At home on the ranch, or the trail, this man reeked adventure and stirred a young girl's curiosity. Just looking at him was reason to trust his leading her to the western desert.
Droughts, Indians, hunger could be conquered at his voice. This man shouldered responsiblity and ability like a mule wore a harness. He knew when to plow on or when to hold his ground.
These things could be seen just by the confidence of his gait. Sarah knew, she must find her way to his protection. This, she knew, was a man. A man for whom stories would be told and legends be born. She must be there to ensure the accuracy of the telling.
He was the hairiest man I ever seen; heavy full beard down to the middle of his chest, thick, unruly, unkempt hair hanging in two greasy plaits that fell forward over his buckstin beclad shoulders. Waist coat open and shirtless, a mass of thick hair protruded, bristling like a doormat from a broad, deep chest. Bare arms, even the backs of his hands were hirsuit.
But the strangest thing was, they called this man 'Baldy.'
Now Virgil was mean. Not but the roughest son of a gun in the town! He snarled and smelled worse than any bull you'd ever seen. He made playin poker like making a deal with the devil just to play a hand. His coat was dusted with death, and a smile as crooked as his word. No man could ever stand to his pistol, all who have are left laying flat on their backs. After he's done with you, your only comfort is the lid on your box.
by Chris7 years ago
I think I would pick Roger Rabbit!!
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