El Retorno
Trials of The Gunfighter
'Union' Jack Taylor. The name was poorly written on an envelope he'd pulled from the small sack, damp from the rain outside. Sitting on the stool, he sat for a long time. It felt like a long time, and he felt really old as he sat there in silence, thinking. 'Is that me? Am I Jack?' He wondered. He turned the envelope and opened it to find three photographs. He stared into the envelope, unmoving. Slowly he pulled the contents from the damp container.
Looking at the pictures, he was careful to observe both sides of each picture. He was looking for anything that could give him some evidence that these were his belongings and that he had a name. The first picture was of a young lady wearing a simple dress, half smiling. She had short dark hair. The name 'Berniece' was scribbled on the back. He recognized her, and his heart felt heavy, but he couldn't remember her. He knew he should, but there was only darkness where a memory should have been.
The second picture was ragged and much older than the first. The grainy image was of two children, posing and emotionless, one a good foot taller than the other. Again, the nagging feeling of lost memory tugged at his heart. The backside of this photograph had no markings.
The third picture was of a lake, lined with tall firs and short hills against a bright, clear sky. He immediately longed to be there, but had the feeling that if he had ever gazed upon that water, he would never do so again. The photograph was unremarkable, except for the serene landscape it represented. He looked at it for a long time, but couldn't recall any distinct detail about it.
Carefully replacing the pictures into the envelope, he set them near his feet, away from the wet sack. Looking around the small hunters shack he had broken into, he saw a small bed, an empty oil lamp, and a bottle half full of what turned out to be whiskey. Grabbing the bottle, he moved to the bed, shrugged off his soaked clothes and thought 'what little I still remember, I now put to rest'. Taking a large slug off the bottle, he laid down and closed his eyes. Listening to the water beat against the wood, he drifted off to sleep.