Storytelling Game 6 (6 words)-Competitive

[Collin]

Okay, time for another change up.
New rules are:

• 6 words worth 1 pt. each chosen by last game's winner
• 1 theme worth 5 pts. if you choose to stick to it.

The game starts now and will end on Friday evening, so lots of time to write. I'm adding the extra time because I know that there are a few of you that are prepping for the long weekend (here in the U.S.) and I want this to cut into that as little as possible.

Voting will be held through the end of Monday. Here are the words and the theme for game 6:

burden
crash
force
stars
street
wind (can be like blowing in the wind... or like a wind up toy. Writers choice!)

And the theme is "Western". So, start pokin' that cow for all you are worth! Game on.
----
UPDATE! Due to the limited number of stories posted I'm extending the deadline for entries. This contest won't end until we have at least 1 story from 8 members or guests. Or Wednesday morning when I get into work. Whichever comes first.

[jenn]

Tom crashed to the ground with such force it knocked the wind out of him. He staggered up, grabbed his hat, and knocked the dirt off. He loved breaking horses. The rush when he mounted one of these wild beasts was his addiction. He loved the way they struggled beneath him. The way he felt every muscle in their bodies tense and tighten as they tried to dismount him, the way each heaving breath dared him to stay in the saddle, and the moment they knew he had won the battle. He liked that the best, the way they became as gentle as a kitten, when they gave up the fight. The big stallion snorted at him, taunting him to try again.

“Well big guy, you won this round.” He told the horse as he took the reins and attempted to drag the feisty beast back to the stable. He had had enough of a beating for one day.

Tom’s thoughts turned to a more favorable ride, one he knew wouldn’t be so quick to dismount him, but still bucked like she might. He released the horse in its stall, and headed for the house. Going to town was always a burden , but he knew Sara would make it worth his while, she always did.

He hastily gathered some things from the house, hooked up the wagon, and headed out. He wanted to get there before the general store closed, and it was a long ride, with nothing but his thoughts to occupy his time and his thoughts were all about Sara. She was as wild and untamed as some of the horses he had broke, and she had taught him pleasures he had never known existed. He was a green kid when she first got a hold of him. She promised him it would be an experience he would never forgot, and he hadn’t.

The memory of that first night haunted him still. The way she looked spreading out the blanket, as the stars danced in the sky. That tongue running from the base of his neck up to his ear, as she whispered how much she wanted him. The fear he felt that he may be a disappointment to her, and he voiced that though. She reassured him she would teach him how to give as well as take, and she did.

There had been other women since her, and he always made sure he left them quivering, but Sara, she was a rare treasure. She could do things with her body that would make a preacher turn to sin, and then she would start with that mouth and tongue, always bringing him so close to exploding, and then moving on to another part of his body before he had the chance. She was one wild thing he had no chance of taming, and had no desire to break.

Tom looked up and was brought back to the present by the sight of town; he hated towns nothing but trouble to be found there. The street was filled with people as always. The ladies were doing their shopping; men were picking up supplies, and children were running underfoot. Tom just wanted to hurry and get his things, drop off the wagon at the livery, and go to Sara’s. Wild wonderful Sara would be waiting, with those hands and that mouth, and that body, to do everything she had done that first night. Tom was glad no man had been able to break her, and better men than him had tried.

[jenn]

Tricia this one is just for you baby!

The girls of grrrrl power that is what Tricia named them. She would let the boys play sometimes if it suited the game, but mostly it was girls only. Especially after their fearless leader, who was a guy, got a life. Oh he would pop in now and again to check up on them and make sure they were playing nice with all the other kiddies, but mostly he left them to their own devices, because they were becoming more of a burden to him. That was probably just a mistake to leave them alone unsupervised, but he was getting a little now. You know how men can be when they don’t have to depend on Hussler for those needs anymore, so there they were left alone, and quite frankly they were enjoying their new found freedom. They had become a force of nature, or freaks of nature whichever you prefer. With Tricia in the lead life was always fun. Late at night when the stars were out, and the streets were silent they would crash from blog to blog leaving comments for the world to see, never winding down until the wee hours of the morning, yep the girls of grrrrl power rule! You had better keep an eye out for them they may make it to your blog one day and life will never be the same for you after that!

[dknight818]

DK1
One weekend, some time ago, I went downtown in my little burg (mostly to escape the soul-crushing depression of Old Shanty Town and the burden of responsibility in general) and, to my shock and delight, there was some sort of "festival" going on. People were engaging in "fun" (and what appeared to be very gratifying mastication (RIGHT THERE ON THE STREET!) so I joined right in, never one to be a "party pooper."

Everything was cool at this festival until some asshole "pantsed" me. Or "de-pantsed" me. Either way, there I stood, sans pants, mooning God and Country my lengthy butt crack flapping in the wind. I cried out to the crowd around me "Why hast thou forsaken me!?" It was then gently explained to me that my belt had broken. thoroughly embarrassed, I pulled my pantalones back up and slinked away.

While downtown, I found out that there're both "bums" AND "squirrels" in Acacia park...They (you know who) rounded up all of the "squirrels," char-broiled them and fed them to the "bums" during the "festival." Everyone was a winner. It made me feel all funny inside.

Anyway, I also found that at the corner of Platte and....Somewhere, there was a man offering free balloon rides. Totally effin' FREE! Man, I LOVE to float off into space, especially when I don't lose any money doing it...I ponied up the 5 bucks and took my place in the basket. The tether line was released and off we floated, into the wild blue yonder.

Ok, so I immediately threw up, but I had ingested 4 TURKEY LEGS and a "squirrel" prior to departure! They tasted so good! Unfortunately not good coming back up, but such is life. After I hurled, though, I was perfectly fine and ready for aviation. I reclined to enjoy the ride when I suddenly spied a very odd sight...

Another balloon operator had HIS balloon seemingly on a crash course with the balloon I as riding in. The other operator was swinging his fists and cursing at MY operator, shouting something about "stealing his business." I ducked down into the basket when I witnessed the other balloon pilot whip out a crossbow and begin firing arrows at OUR balloon.

My pilot laughed and told me not to worry, that we wouldn't crash because OUR balloon had a reinforced envelope. He then whipped out a throwing star and...well, threw it...He scored a direct hit, sending his opponent spiraling down to certain doom.

I had never felt closer to death until that point in my life, nor had I witnessed more bizarre operational behavior between two commercial competitors. I reflected upon this fact later, as I lay safely on my cot, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky...Soon after, I began wondering who had stolen the roof off of my shanty (in old Shanty Town)...

[barrie]

Momma always told me that beauty was a burden. But then, Momma was an ugly old hag. Maybe she was beautiful once. I’ll never forget the night that old bandy-legged cowboy came and took us away from Daddy. Daddy was the meanest, most black-hearted man you ever did meet. I guess God only knows why Momma married that son of a bitch. Well, God and the whole entire town once Momma started showing. After they got hitched Momma was showing a lot more than that. I guess old bandy-legged Pete Mitchell started looking pretty good to Momma with his fightin words about all those black and blue marks Momma always had, ‘cause one night we heard a great big crash and ole Pete had forced down that crooked red door with its peelin paint. Pete just yanked poor Momma up on that cranky mule of his and we took off down the street with Momma hangin on to me for all she was worth. Momma was laughin and cryin, so happy her cowboy had come to save her. The stars in her eyes were twice as bright as the ones up in the sky. Poor Momma, I don’t figure she thought we would ever wind up here. She wasn’t the best Momma that ever was and she had about the worst luck in men as I ever did see but God I miss her. I don’t know if I’ll see Momma again but if I see you again it will be from the other side of the grave or from behind iron bars because I swear on my life that the next time that Pete Mitchell tries to stick his wrinkly old thing up inside me I am gonna hit him over the head with the frying pan I been cookin that cowboy’s grits in for the last ten years.

[The Whiskey Kid]

JK1

The wind howled through Tumbleweed's lone street. Dust devils danced in a dangerous fashion, and an old man reading a dime novel complained about the annoying alliteration in the title.

The Whiskey Kid ambled along the boardwalk. He paused
for a moment outside the saloon, then stepped over the unconscious man who crashed through the window. Why saloon owners even bothered replacing their windows, the Kid didn't know. He swaggered inside, throwing extra swagger into his step to
make the doors swing a bit more.

The brawl in full swing suddenly quieted down. The burden that the Whiskey Kid carried gave them all pause for thought, and they slunk back to their drinks. Several called for milk.

The Kid sat down. "One bottle of Jack," he said. "Another bottle of Scotch to keep the Jack company. One bottle of rotgut in case the Jack and Scotch get lost." The Kid slammed back half the bottle of Jack Daniels. There was a reason they called him the Whiskey Kid. Of course, there was a reason that he drank so much, too. But we'll get to that later.

Once more the full force of the Whiskey Kid's pitiful life situation crashed down on his shoulders, and he dropped his head in his arms and sobbed. A hand patted him on the back.

"Why don't we go outside and talk?" asked Doc. They called him the .45 caliber Doctor because of the tools he operated with--two .45 Peacemakers.

The Whiskey Kid stumbled outside. "Why do I have bitch tits, Doc?" he asked. His real name was Robert. Bob for short.

Doc looked up at the stars. "Because you took too many steroids, Bob, plain and simple. Steroids create an estrogen inbalance in the male body, and often breasts can result." Doc slapped Bob on the back. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a girl inside that needs a good seein' to. Go back to your your whiskey, Kid. It's the only thing that can help you now."

[Collin]

CB1

Jojo had never wanted to be a rodeo clown. It was just one of those things that happen to people when they aren't paying enough attention to where they are going. Like getting clipped by a train. Or gang raped by the gorillas at the zoo. All you can really do is roll with it and hope for the best. And in the case of the gorillas learn to not walk around a zoo with a banana in your back pocket.

But that was then, and this is now. And now Jojo was facing an enraged bull.

Moments earlier it had tossed and trampled its rider and was now bearing down on Jojo like a freight train. Or a pack of gorillas. Whichever. It sucked either way.

What Jojo wanted to do at that moment, more than anything was to run from the stadium out into the street, screaming and shedding his clown clothes the whole way. But he couldn't move. He was terrified; frozen with fear.

All of the clown schooling in the world hadn't prepared him for the horrible creature that was hellbent on trampling him into the dirt. Much less two weeks at 'Willie Bob's Emporium of Clown Teaching & Learning'.

It was his first time in the field and he was about to die.

His mind raced back to what his mentor, Willie Bob, had told him before giving him his own lucky red nose and running off to play in the flowers.

"Jojo, the most important thing to remember to do when a bull is about to trample you to death and you are frozen with fear is to... Look! Butterflies!"

GODDAMMIT! STUPID FUCKING DRUNK CLOWN BASTARD!

'That's fifty bucks I won't be seeing again any time soon.' he thought as the bull crashed full force into him. The impact knocked the wind out of him and sent him spiraling into the air.

Freed from the burden of gravity, with stars flashing through his skull, he realized that his time working as a rodeo clown had come to an end.

Next stop: Cowboy!

[Tricia]

Hee hee!
Thanks Jenn!
I wub oooooh!

[Tricia]

TW1

The gunslinger sat on a chair in the back of the saloon with his hat pulled down over his eyes. He looked like he was sleeping, but all of his senses were on high alert.
From under his brim, he watched the saloon girl carry a round of drinks to the table in the front corner, but he kept the kid in his peripheral the whole time.

It was obvious to him what the kid had on his mind.

The gunslinger usually avoided town because of pups like him. They all wanted to make a name for themselves. Be able to say “ I killed the greatest gunslinger in the West”. He had been forced to kill every one of them. That was the burden he carried. They followed him now, the ghosts of all those young men who had passed in front of his gun sights.

The boy watching him from across the saloon was different. He wasn’t nervous at all. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen, but he didn’t have any of the excitement that was normal for a boy his age about to do what the gunslinger knew he was planning to do.

He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he hadn’t had for years… A feeling of fear growing deep inside.

What was it about the boy?

He wasn’t the only one noticing the feeling. The atmosphere in the saloon was thick, like the wind had blown something sick and choking into the room.

Old Smitty behind the bar had picked up on the feeling too. He was keeping his hands busy washing glasses, but every once in a while his glance would pass from the gunslinger to the boy. He had been in the saloon business long enough to notice even the slightest change in the mood of his bar room.

At one point, a shot glass slipped through Smitty's thin, bony fingers and crashed to the floor. The gunslinger didn’t flinch. After years of practice, his body was a fine tuned machine. He had been a master of self-discipline since he was a boy. Nothing could get you killed faster than being distracted in a gunfight, by a slamming door or a child crying.

He watched the kid. He hadn’t moved as the glass shattered on the floor. He was pouring his second shot of whiskey; the stream of light brown liquid flowing from bottle to tumbler had not wavered at all.

This is what started the sick ball of fear gnawing at the gunslingers stomach.

It reminded him of how he had been at seventeen. Full of quiet confidence… no need for bravado. He had put down every man who had challenged him in the dusty streets of some dingy mining town.

Now he watched this kid; it was like going back in time, watching himself.

He moved his hat back on his head and stared openly at the kid.

He wondered how the kid had found him. He had given up the life and settled down a long time ago. At least ten years of living an anonymous life and now here was the kid, laying in wait for him at the only saloon he ever visited anymore.

He stood up from his chair and made his way towards the door. He had an overwhelming urge to walk straight up to the kid and say, “Look kid, I’m old. I’m tired. I got a woman waiting for me and alls I want to do is make my way back home to her”.

The kid continued to nurse his whiskey. His eyes moved over the gunslinger as he passed, no fear in them, no acknowledgement that he even recognized the old man.

The gunslinger pushed open the swinging doors and stepped out onto the long railed porch. He stood there for a second staring up at the stars, then he began to descend the stairs to where his horse was tethered.

As he placed a spurred heel on the last step he heard the scrape of the kid’s chair as he pushed it back from the table.

He hoped she had gone to bed already… that she wasn’t sitting up waiting by the fire like she usually did on those rare nights that he actually left her house and ventured out for a single beer at the saloon.

Again, he wondered how the boy had found him.

[Collin]

Okay, it's well past this morning and time to put this round to rest.

With so few stories to choose from this time, everyone needs to limit their voting to their two favorites. Voting will be over tomorrow night.

The winner will be allowed, nay encouraged to choose the next six words. And we will have another round shortly thereafter with an entirely different theme.

[Heather]

I hate that I missed the deadline. I love western stories...oh, well. I'll have to settle for voting.

1st vote to Tricia. Well done, you!

2nd vote to Justin. Another well done, you.

Honorable mentioin to Collin, though, for violence against a clown! ALL CLOWNS MUST DIE!!!!

[Wendy]

Here are my choices, if I'm still allowed to vote after not writing for so long...

JS1 - gotta love the sexy-stud cowboy, YEEHAW!

JK1 - anyone that can work something from Fight Club into a western gets my vote!

Please forgive me for the writer's block guys...I guess I deserve that spanking after all.

[Collin]

Okay, voting extended to tomorrow night. Look at all of the extending! Look!

[Wendy]

Collin's extending again...Damn, he IS getting excited!

[jenn]

Collin baby you rule! I didn't think I would get a chance to vote!