Another Telling

To properly understand the gravity of the situation that Billy Jean had just undergone, it is imperative to understand one simple thing. First, let us repeat a paragraph from the last bit.

He was hidden behind a conveniently placed tree. Its trunk was large enough to hide even two grown men. He was thinking it was an oak but in all honesty he wouldn’t be able to tell a palm tree from pine tree. He was a red-blooded American through and through. That was his main problem.

He had many secondary problems as well. He had a family history of Diabetes and as a child he was never allowed to touch sugary food. He would lust for chocolate but it was never given to him. This made him a bitter child and somebody you'd hate to meet the day after Halloween. A more plot-relevant problem was that he had the most fantastic delusions.

A long history of sugar deprivation, child abuse, and depression had led him to severe psychological disorders. It would take quite a while to explain the inner workings, so let's cut to the chase. The man, Billy Jean, currently, thought he was a Cowboy from the 1880's on a vendetta for his deceased family. He based this all on old Western films that he saw as a child.

It would be best to start the story from the beginning then.

“Injuns.”

A ragged voice whispered under his breath. His face was sweating and greasy. Nothing in the world could tear his gaze away from the sight he was beholding.

“Them dirty injuns. Thinkin’ they can outsmart me… I’m gon’ show them rascals.”

The man stroked his gun. It was a beautiful .45 Colt Peacemaker and virtually his only source of joy. He stroked it like a lover, gentle yet firm. He held it close to him like he was a child, helpless if it weren’t for his parent. Most of all though, he was loading it like a gun, ready for the kill.

“I’m gon’ show them what for. They can’t fool me. I’m educated. They can’t fool an American,” he assured himself as he spotted a 6 year old boy wearing a smartly worn grey shirt. He shooed him quickly away. The boy ran over to his mother who was chatting away on a park bench 20 seconds away.

He was hidden behind a conveniently placed tree. It was, in fact, an oak tree. What's more, it was growing in the front yard of a prominent young businessman who was busy washing his car. A lovely red Accord that complimented his smile and stature near-perfectly.

The suburban street was filled with a tangy air of barbecue. There was a small party several houses away. Billy Jean spotted a few lawn gnomes. He eyed them shortly in awe as he mistook them for tumbleweeds. He kissed his gun's barrel while the businessman vacuumed up the trunk of his car.

The businessman's home was a nice two story home, newly built, and without blemish. Billy Jean was watching his movement's closely. He liked the horse he saw. It was still a car though but that didn't bother him a bit as he plotted how he'd snatch it from his enemy's hold.

He aimed his revolver with a steady hand and shot. A deafening crack rang out and as did a scream. The bullet hit the businessman’s shoulder and he was writhing with pain on the dusty ground. The gunshot rang throughout the block. A man from the barbecue ran out to see what was going on and just as quickly called the police on his phone. The women and children at the park were running to their own homes in fear.

“Dirty Redskin! That’ll learn ya to mess with Buckin’ Billy Jean!” said the man in triumph. He was running towards the downed man ready for the kill. He aimed his gun again but at point black range. He slowly put it down after a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m better ‘n you. I won’t kill ya and dirty my bullets.” Buckin’ Billy Jean thought this was a rather noble line as he mounted his new found horse. “I’m a good soul and may God in heav’n have mercy on yer soul.”

The key was in the man's pocket and Billy Jean grabbed a hold of them. It's quite amazing that his body didn't follow his mind completely, otherwise he'd be whipping a car to go. What was even more amazing was that he got this far without being too closely noticed by any bystanders. Most likely they thought he was a bum and should be left alone.

The sound of several sirens filled the air as two patrol cars rushed down the street towards Billy Jean. He was already speeding down the suburbs at freeway speeds.

“Dirty cheats.” He whispered to himself as he looked towards the patrol cars and suddenly spun out as he hit a spiked strip of road.

He jumped out of the car. He was surrounded by 4 policemen. They approached him carefully, calling him to assume the position and surrender. Billy Jean heard gibberish. He was waving his revolver around and the officers knew they couldn't risk any civilian injury. One lunged at him from the side and fired off a taser. A quick buzz ran through Billy Jean.

“YA DIRTY REDSKINS WILL NEVER BREAK OLE BUCKIN’ BILLY JEAN!” screamed the psychotic man as the officers shot off another taser to subdue the criminal.

It wasn't exactly great but I think it was an alright job. I have another post after this for some thoughts running in my head. Most likely.

Another one, yo

"Injuns."

A ragged voice whispered under his breath. His face was sweating and greasy. Nothing in the world could tear his gaze away from the sight he was beholding.

"Them dirty injuns. Thinkin' they can outsmart me... I'm gon' show them rascals."

The man stroked his gun. It was a beautiful .45 Colt Peacemaker and virtually his only source of joy. He stroked it like a lover, gentle yet firm. He held it close to him like he was a child, helpless if it weren't for his parent. Most of all though, he was loading it like a gun, ready for the kill.

"I'm gon' show them what for. They can't fool me. I'm educated. They can't fool an American," he assured himself as he spotted a small grey rabbit in the corner of his eye. He shooed it away quickly.

He was hidden behind a conveniently placed tree. Its trunk was large enough to hide even two grown men. He was thinking it was an oak but in all honesty he wouldn't be able to tell a palm tree from pine tree. He was a red-blooded American through and through. That was his main problem.

The wasteland of a plain was filled with a stagnant air. Tumbleweeds were always a household myth, but he could make out a few in the distance. He could see the reason he was in hiding in the first place - An Indian, a heathen treading upon this holy land. He raised his revolver to his mouth and kissed its shining barrel. God was on his side and he knew it.

The Indian was standing near a cleverly made solitary wigwam and brushing a beautiful chestnut toned horse. The man knew that it was a fine breed and could probably outrun a train. He'll have it off the dirty heathen. Indians didn't deserve such a beautiful creature. That was a wonderful plan, he thought. The time to act was now.

He aimed his revolver with a steady hand and shot. A deafening crack rang out and as did a scream. The bullet hit the Indian's shoulder and he was writhing with pain on the dusty ground.

"Dirty Redskin! That'll learn ya to mess with Buckin' Billy Jean!" said the man in triumph. He was running towards the downed Indian ready for the kill. He aimed his gun again but at point black range. He slowly put it down after a moment's hesitation.

"I'm better 'n you. I won't kill ya and dirty my bullets." Buckin' Billy Jean thought this was a rather noble line as he mounted his new found horse. "I'm a good soul and may God in heav'n have mercy on yer soul."

He took off and galloped towards the sunset. Unfortunately, his heroism was short lived as nearly a dozen Indians rounded him off on both flanks.

"Dirty cheats." He whispered to himself as he looked towards the left and hit a rock on his right. He tumbled into a state of half-consciousness.

Indians on all sides. This wasn't good for him at all, he thought. An Indian stabbed him. He nearly lost consciousness. Billy Jean's breath was heavy with fatigue. He started to lose focus and could only make out blobs of color. The red was closing in on him as the blue was being blotted out. A dull grey dotted the red at uneven intervals.

"YA DIRTY REDSKINS WILL NEVER BREAK OLE BUCKIN' BILLY JEAN!" screamed the cowboy as he slowly passed out.

Actually I don't really like how this turned out. I liked it up until I had to go back to the story after talking about Billy Jean's problems. After that, I just kind of muddled myself into an end. I ll need to clean this up somehow to be somewhat decent.

I just got the idea to try and fix this up somehow by trying to seperate the real from the delusional as will be seen in the next post. I think it was a stroke of pure genius. And I personally think it gives me the freedom to add a bit more detail here and there without worrying about space constraints.

Something Literate.

Reboot Started. Loading preferences.

D-AN3Y was starting up.

Logic Circuits Enabled. Running At 82 Percent Power.

It was a very loud start up process despite it mainly involving software checks. Its noise was not unlike a lawnmower.

Start Up Successful. Have A Wonderful Day.

D-AN3Y started to slowly move his joints. His eyes shone with a strange happiness. He tried to blink. He failed. He had just remembered that he was a robot and incapable of blinking. And having a gender, though this did not hinder him of thinking of himself in a masculine way. He decided to flash his eye-shaped lights a bit. This made him feel a bit better.

He was unfamiliar to the room he was sitting in. He glanced around to see pure white walls topped off with a pure white ceiling. He had a sinking suspicion that if he took a look down, he'd see a pure white floor as well. He was not disappointed as he could see a porcelain floor, not a blemish in sight.

He started to get a feeling that if he took a step, the room would start to crack. This started to seem less important as soon as he realized that he was inside the room itself. There was no perceivable way to get inside. Or outside for that matter. Any crack that would hint at a doorway would be immediately noticeable.

He was starting to get extremely panicky. This didn't bode well with him. He started to think to himself.

"How in blazes did I get here? Just how long was I out?"

He then realized that he was thinking. He just hated when he realized that he was thinking. His logic circuits overloaded and he shut himself down.

Reboot Started. Loading Preferences.

D-AN3Y was starting up. Again.

Logic Circuits Enabled. Running At 74 Percent Power.

D-AN3Y's start up was noisy as ever. The room filled with noise again. Its echoing revs something it has grown used to.

Start Up Successful. Have A Wonderful Day.

D-AN3Y's started to move his creaking joints once again.

"It's such a horrible thing being an old model, eh?" He muttered to nobody in particular.

Something was strange. The room was different somehow. If he didn't focus enough, it was nearly impossible to notice. The pure whiteness of the room didn't seem to change. Yet it somehow did. Was it a shade more white? Was that even possible? He took a quick check in his mind. Or what a robot's mind is supposed to be.

He found nothing relevant.

"Bugger."

He was getting a tad frustrated. Something caught his eye. It was a flash of black. That was definitely noticeable in such a room. He turned around and eyed every corner of the room. No luck. The whiteness made the room seem like an infinite space.

He took another look around. Something was definitely wrong this time. For one, the room was no longer white. It was brown and made of wood.

And filled with livestock. Honest to goodness livestock. Tagged ears, cuds in mouth, sweaty tails flicking at flies.

Suddenly the livestock got agitated. Was it the sudden revving of D-AN3Y's head that got to them? Maybe the sudden appearance of a robot go them all shook up? Whatever the reason, they started a bovine riot.

They were aiming for him. They were out for blood. 3 seconds later D-AN3Y was hit by a severe electric shock.

"Oh bother. Not again." He muttered just before he shut down for the 10th time in a span of 30 minutes.

His start up sequences began for the 11th time in a room he has never been in, in a ship he has never ridden, in a galaxy he has never visited, and in a universe he never knew existed.

Yes, I know I'm just trying to emulate Douglas Adams. How unoriginal, you're thinking to yourself. Shove it. I'm just trying to find a way to be witty. Other things will be happening. So cram your criticism.

This is me thinking in hindsight that none of you, all two of you, will actually know who Douglas Adams is. You sicken me.