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1 Surrenstrada: For Honor By: Ken Watkins Part I: Today I was at the bar drinking. A card shark got caught cheating. The cheated man reacted as anyone else does in Surrenstrada. He told him to draw. The cheater begged for him not to be a hero. The cheater’s reputation seemed superior as a gunman rather than a card shark. Cards seemed to be something that passed the time away as a hobby. The man that had been cheated felt out of control and reached for his weapon. The cheater did not even stand up to gain his posture. He merely drew calmly. He put three in the man’s chest. After the cheated fell down the cheater said, “Friend - I told you not to be a hero.” That word “hero” stuck with me. It is the very reason I take pen to paper in this entry of my journal. First I ask myself what is a hero? Is it someone that stands for good? Have they moral superiority? The men that I label heroes in my lifetime are two things. The first they are not moral. They try to be, but they have their flaws. Whether it be drinking, women, money, gambling, so on and so forth - there is a weakness. The second thing about heroes, like the cheated found out, they are all dead. Then I thought to myself - a hero stands against a villain. This concept made sense to me. If the world has no villains, then there are no heroes. If the world has only heroes, then there are no villains. This is a black and white way to look at the world, but once I started seeing the world in this perspective I felt born again. Make no mistake. I am the villain of the story. I knew that after my first kill. I worked tumultuous hours in a coal mine. The work was horrid. Sometimes, in my 2 nightmares, I am there again, and the dust forces me to choke. I tell you that not to get pity but to provide insight into my motivations as a villain. I came out of the coal mine to retrieve my pay. I saw the coffer full of coin. I saw this fat, slob of a man with a gun handing it out next to an elderly man standing over him. Something inside of me exploded. I took the man’s gun out of his holster. I shot him. I shot the elderly man. He had a very killable disposition. All are posturing with superiority because he is the richest man in a close vicinity, but he was no gunman. After that, I linked up with a highwayman. These people varied. My first boss was full of energy. He would kill at the drop of a hat. My second and final boss, he was more like me. He showed me how to plan jobs, read, write, and the importance of inference which is anticipation. I have a saying. Always fear the old gunman, for they are old for a reason. The Civil War came. Granted, Surrenstrada stayed out of it, for the most part, that whole one gate opens for a day every year in random locations, I still found myself profiting from robbing trains of supplies. It mattered not to me the side. It is the world that does not seem my own. Both sides guns and ammo. Their money is no good here, but it does not hurt to have some laying around to tell you the truth. The guns and ammo I stole fetched me a lot of coin, and I started me up a wagon train that traveled to and from Surrenstrada. Then the wagon train business took off as families wanted to come from various small towns to Surrenstrada or move from the big city to a smaller town. I cared not. Their money all spent the same. Anyway, my profits began to get cut due to how many wagon trains there were at the time. I figured I would buy them and employ their staff. It 3 worked for the most part. Except one, The Last Wagon Master of Surenstrada. His name is Victor, and I trained him. Is he a hero? Well, he does have a fatal flaw. He loves food and has the occasional drink. At the same time, he has no other vices. I would say age, but that is more of a flaw than a vice. Well, there I have it. Victor is the hero, and I Lavon the villain of the story. If whoever reads this is curious, the man who shot the cheated is named Three Burst. He gets that name because whenever he shoots - his signature is a quick three rounds to the chest. It seems a bit wasteful to me. Myself and even Victor need just one round. Anyway, I will remember that name. It is a possibility him and I will have future endeavors together. “The Villain” –Lavon 4 Chapter 1 A small boy, approximately nine summers old, stared at the word “cat” on a large piece of paper surrounded by other simple words like “dog” and “red.” A few stains appeared on his brown, collared shirt but barely visible. He sat at a fine oaken table assembled and carved with beautiful detail. High vaulted ceilings accommodated book shelves which housed knowledge in paper form. The windows rested open which allowed a gentle, summer breeze to dance through the room. He nervously pulled the thick, brown hair out of his almond colored eyes. He cleared his throat before saying, “Sir, uhm, I forget the sound the letter ‘c’ makes.” A lean man, six foot – three in height, covered in sweat, stood on a ladder hammered away at a dormant monstrosity appearing to be human. His soaked, black cotton shirt soaked matched perfectly with his black cowboy boots and black pants. One Colt revolver hung from his right hip while a large sheath pointed to his right hand sat at rest on his left side. The man’s thick, silver, sweat soaked hair hung freely as he paused to address the boy. He paused a moment from swinging hammer and looked directly at the kid. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped the dirt from his forehead the said, “Alvin, it makes a ‘cuh’ sound.” His voice sounded deep but in control while being warm. Alvin smiled then said, “Cuh, ay, no, ah, t. Cat! It’s cat! Levon, I mean sir I read it!” Lavon looked at the boy with pride. He gave an approving nod in the child’s direction. He said, “Keep reading Alvin. I believe in you.” Alvin perked up immediately. His eyes, full of motivation, gripped the book tighter. He said, “Yes sir.” 5 Lavon placed a nail on a gargantuan human like being. With three precise but powerful strikes with his hammer, he drove it home. He stared at his creation for a few more seconds. He smiled as he took pleasure in his work. Alvin stammered, “Cat, rrr,ah, a, ennn. Cat ran?” Lavon’s smile increased as he looked at Alvin. He said, “That is it. Outstanding Alvin. Keep going.” A knock at the door broke the mood of the room. Lavon calmly said “Enter.” The door opened. Six men walked across the threshold. Sizes and physical descriptions varied. They each wore scowls upon seeing Alvin. Each made himself at home. They meandered to his bar immediately after sending hateful looks toward the boy. They grabbed the expensive whiskey he kept and started filling matching glasses. Trailing the six men, a thin blonde woman with long curls cautiously entered the room. She noted everything in the room first. She noticed the monstrosity that stared at them lifeless. She sized up Alvin next. She knew that young children often perform the dirtiest of deeds in Surrenstrada. She came to this knowledge by experience. Lavon approached her at a young age to perform tasks. At first simple messenger jobs. The pay that bought a few warm meals, seemed worth it. As time steamed forward the jobs steadily transitioned to ones that felt shrouded in moral ambiguity. She merely provided a distraction or gave a reason for a man to follow her to an alley. She told herself that Surrenstrada played her that hand. No child should choose pig slop over being morally innocent or feeling guilty how one acquires a warm meal. 6 She snapped out of her stream of conscious. Her footsteps slowed as her suspicious gaze landed on Lavon. She knew him for years. He saw her at highs and lows. She knew his weapons and his proficiency for violence. His weapons, she noticed, displayed in the open. She knew Levon could draw both weapons instantly. This marked a dangerous man in Surrenstrada she knew. A coward will hide their weapons. Professionals leave them exposed. Levon smiled with pride as he noticed her casing him. The six neanderthals she assessed a second time despite sizing them up previously. She knew they carried visible weapons. The weapons that worried seemed to be the unseen. She noticed that one of the man’s spurs on his left side seemed sharpened to a point. He could use his right leg to kick his horse, but the left spur seemed to hold a more sinister purpose. She figured that most of the men, as with most bandits for hire, carried a hidden knife or gun. She walked to Lavon and hugged him. As she hugged him, she kept her gaze on the six men.

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