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Amos Branson-Part 3-Amos
By wrify Posted in Part 3-Amos on September 16, 2018 0 Comments 6 min read
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With our hair standing up we slowly turn to face the direction from which the voice came. Standing just outside the out building behind us is a youngish man of about 30-35 years. Evidently, he had egressed from that outbuilding which is why, we realize, there was no answer to our knocks on the front door. In his hands is a shotgun. We see that it is a double-barrel shotgun and we are looking into the maw of its two barrels. The shotgun is pointed generally at our faces and the young many is standing roughly ten yards from us, grimacing.

He is wearing a grey and yellow horizontal stripe T-shirt and cut off khaki shorts. On his feet are ankle high, partially unlaced work boots. He is soaked in sweat with stains in the arm pits of the T-shirt and his cut off khakis have one leg about tow inches longer than the other. Those to are stained. His demeanor and style makes us glad that the wind is at our backs. If he smells at all the way he looks his odor would probably be gagging.

On his nose rest a pair of gold rimmed spectacles. The left lens is missing leaving a hole into his eye which is disconcerting as it creates the look of dementia. His pot belly only adds to the general state of disrepair he represents, Not what we were expecting to say the least. We realize that we are in what some term, “A pickle.”

“What do you think you’re doing on my property?” His voice comes to us with a growl. “I oughta drop you right where you stand! I have the right to you know.” We see that he is quite angry and don’t doubt that he just might discharge the weapon; ruining our day. Actually, his question is the one question we were afraid he would ask us. We both know that, in truth, we haven’t have a good answer between us. In fact, we were just asking ourselves that same question.

We start to blurt out some thing like: we were just riding around and saw your place and were wondering if it might be for sale. We don’t get the chance though. Amos cocks back both hammers of his shotgun. The sound is like a death knell. Clear and acid-like.

“I think you just better get off my property right now.” His voice bodes no discussion of his principle of our ceasing our trespass.

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