His Son

The night fell upon a desolate town of despair. The scorched earth cooled as the sun set and pink clouds turned dark blue against the moonlight. Dried weeds bundled into a ball and tumbled to and fro, lifting up sand as it did only to be stopped as it hit a large cactus. The wind changed directions, forcing the weed past the cactus before tumbling it away into another direction. Tumbling across the sand, the weed made its way onto a sand covered path before stopping at a saloon that bustled with energy. The wind deposited the weed at its destination before picking up a new odd traveler. A wanted sign.

The paper was old and torn at the corners. Painted in the center was a pig hybrid and the words: "Wanted Dead or Alive." The pig hybrid wore rather fancy clothes with a masquerade mask colored black and gold. Written in a fine text at the bottom of the page was a description of the crime. "Wanted for the kidnapping of [REDACTED] the orphan."

The sign flew through the wind, flipping and dancing with the wind. The paper hit the side of the windows into a certain church, a church of Prime. Inside the church were a few devoted followers who were seated in the benches with their hands crossed in a praying manner. The moonlight lit the empty podium that was once occupied by a preacher that was long since dead. Candles were soon blown out as the people rose to leave the house of worship. The wanted sign again zipped away, dancing along the stars before it was promptly grabbed out of the air by a rather sturdy hand.

The hand was calloused from years of hard work. The owner of the hand was a type of pig hybrid that adorned a sheriff's star and a hat that kept the most of the sun out of his eyes. However, in that evening, the only thing that did was obstruct the moonlight from showing the face of the pig. The sheriff looked down at the wanted poster he had so carefully crafted. The hybrid painted on the parchment looked so similar to him that it unnerved him to no end. He was even placed on trial just because him and the fancy hybrid had such similarities. However, the sheriff promised each person in the town that he would kill the hybrid that took the orphan from him.

The orphan had been living with the sheriff for, damn, how long now? Three years before he was kidnapped? The orphan had appeared in the town when he was young. Of course, many of the town residents pitied him, but no one took the young kid in. As seemingly the only one who cared for the citizens of the town, Sheriff Thompsom took the kid in. For the first few days, it seemed very awkward. He didn't know the orphan that well. He was pretty sure the kid was 6 and had experienced trauma. But, he never pressured the kid into spilling. Instead, he decided to wait for the kid to trust him.

And now he was gone, all because he couldn't protect his only charge. He couldn't give two shits for the town and it's people, hell, he let a cannibal, Crops, out to get fresh air all the time. The orphan never even told him his name. He just always called him kid before naming him J just for simplicity. The day that the bastard pig came in a swiped the money was one he would always remember. The screams of his kid after the hybrid held him at knife point were forever etched into his brain.

"Sherman!" came the cry of a desperate 9 year old. The kid had tears falling down his face out of complete fear.

No one was in sight other than the sheriff. The sheriff stood, hand on the gun that was holstered at his side. The man who stood before him had a striking resemblance to him. The man wore a crown with a rather lavish black coat. The coat was adorned with golden buttons and chains. In his arms was Sherman's kid, his J. The boy was held with a knife at his neck, situated in front of the much larger man in a defensive manner. The man, he later learned the name of, Sir Billiam the Third, had a large arm over the much younger body. Sheriff Sherman could do nothing but watch. If he shot, there was a chance he could hit his kid. The kid was much taller than normal, but that also made him much more of a target.

The hybrid looked at the sheriff. "Let me leave peacefully, and I promise not to kill the boy."

Sherman looked at the boy, then looking at the criminal. "Let him go."

"Just for you to shoot me? No."

The kid cried out as the knife poked his neck. A bead of blood started to pool at the knife before spilling over and slipping down his neck. Sherman had to keep in an animalistic growl. How he wanted to protect his charge, but he couldn't move. Instead, he moved his hand from his holster, putting them into the sky. "There."

"Drop your weapon on the ground and kick it to me."

So Sherman did, moving slowly so that the hybrid in front of him did not suspect anything. He was one of the best shots in the whole town, but he doubted his skills. He knelt into the sand, placing the pistol on the ground before standing up. Keeping his eyes on the man in front of him, he kept his hands in the air and then kicked the gun into the middle between them. The hybrid smiled, one of malice and pure evil.

"Good, now you're going to let me and the boy here leave, or I will slit his throat."

Sherman said nothing, keeping his eyes on the man. It did not go unnoticed as he clenched his fist and let out a snort of anger. His kid cried, begging his captor to let him go and let him leave peacefully. Sir Billiam only hissed for him to shut up. The knife pushed itself further into the neck of J, making Sherman take a step forward.

"Ah, ah, ah. One more step and his toast, ya hear? Tell him to behave."

Sherman grunted but looked at his kid, "J, just listen to him. Do what he says, okay? I'll find you, I promise."

Shaking his head, Sherman crumbled the wanted poster into a ball. It had been sever years since his kid had been kidnapped. Within the first few years, they searched far and wide. But, soon they developed other problems with a rival gang of bandits. He had to divert his search for his son to the bandit group. They continued to terrorize them for years. As of recently, the bandits have left them alone, however, that did not let him return to his search. Most of the town now believed it was a lost cause. As much as they wanted to get their money that the hybrid had stolen, they did not care now.

Sherman sighed, entering the saloon. He walked over to the bar, dodging the drunken men and women who were dancing along to an upbeat song. Sitting down on an uneven barstool, he waved the bartender over. The bartender was a tall and slender man who went by the name John. He appeared almost six months ago with a weird sum of money. The money didn't last long as he opened his saloon. The business was booming, even though the saloon was robbed by the bandits pretty often.

The bartender was rather submissive, even giving free drinks when pressured. The man's whole demeanor screamed in familiarity to the sheriff. But, it would never click in the old man's head. But, in the bartender's, it clicked.

He walked over, placing a thirty-two ounce mug filled to the brim with a dark lager onto the bar in front of the man. The bartender had a friendly smile on his face. "Thirty-two Dos Equis?"

The sheriff grumbled, picking up the mug and starting to take a long swallow. As he reached for the mug, he released the ball of paper. The bartender picked it up, unraveling it to see the man who had stolen him so long ago. "Did y'all ever catch him?"

The hybrid set the beer on the bar with a frown. "Never. We had to change our efforts after a year of searching. These bandits appeared and threatened the town. But me? I never gave up. For the town, it was about the money. For me? It's about my son."

The bartender smiled, grabbing a rag and drying the glasses that he had finished washing. "Well, I hope that one day you find him."

Little did the sheriff know, the Bartender that stood in front of him had escaped the clutches of the egg loving Sir Billiam and returned to his father's side.