One week of shackles, one week of freezing and one week of pain. I had been held inside an abandoned small barn in the northern mountains, that was all i could tell. I couldn't remember much other than a sack being forced over my head, and the screams of my family.
We were farmers. My father was a union soldier, plagued with paranoia. Though his side won, he acted as thought the war had never ended. For as long as I could remember, we went through countless "lessons". I think i could shoot a gun before I knew how to properly formulate a sentence. I was the eldest child, not a daughter, a soldier. My mother spent her days in town, biding time away from my father, poor woman, but how could you blame her? However, i do believe I was the closest person to my father.
Every morning, drill, clean up, plan another drill for my younger brothers, eat dinner, clean up after my father. We did everything together - but that's not to say I didn't hold any resentment towards the man. My life among the towns people near Blackwater was essentially non-existent. I was typically regarded as "Mr. Winslow's kid".
My father had a habit of neglecting our farm, and as my mother quickly left every morning to ignore her duties, ol' Dad started to get involved in bounty hunting. I can't blame the man - he was a great shot.
Much of his bounty work involved gangs and leaders, the Winslow name was not unknown among those circles. I knew all of this, the heads my father went after, the ones orchestrating those heads, and all the money dad had stashed. My father's paranoia was fed by these bounties, he believed these gangs were union based, and that he was killing in the name of freedom, or, whatever. This is when the O'Driscolls entered the picture, Colm O'Driscoll was another head, another bounty. My father had been planning this hit for month before he really started to loose it. Aside from his normal mumbles and planning, he started to question my mother. Why was she always out? Where was she going? It didn't matter much. I guess Colm heard of the hit and tracked us down. And that's how I got to a freezing cold, soggy pad of hay, inside a dank and dark old barn house I believe.
It was so cold, my arms had gotten so small I could almost fit them out of the shackles. It was morning, i started to hear the normal stir of men walking around, they'd bang on the walls outside and scream obscenities.
BANG
I ducked for cover, I heard the screams of the Irish twats. I think I had found my saviors. The shooting went on for what felt like only a few seconds. I started screaming.
"HEY! HELP ME PLEASE, IM IN THE BARN PLEASE SOMEONE PLEASE!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs.
Again.
"PLEASE PLEASE IM IN HERE PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!"
"I think it's coming from in here," said a deep voice in a distinct southern drawl.
"YES PLEASE, IN HERE PLEASE HELP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HOLY SHIT IM IN HERE".
The door bursted open, I had to squint as my eyes adjusted to the light.
"Dutch! There's a girl in here! I think she was held captive!" said one of the men.
"Well then help her! She must be an enemy of the jackasses, any enemy of them is a friend of mine!" I assumed the man named Dutch chimed in.
"You got this, Arthur?" said one of the men.
"Yeah, no problem." Said Arthur.
Arthur stepped closer to me. He looked like some man cut out of a catalogue, not someone who would shoot up the O'Driscolls.
"Mr. Arthur, I promise, I'm not with the O'Driscolls, they came at night a few weeks ago to my home and-" I tried to squeeze out.
"Miss, it's ok, they wouldn't tie up one of their own like this. But you're safe now, everything will be ok. What's your name?"
