[color=salmon][b]Sara Weaver
  Salem, Massachusetts[/b][/color]




 



 Waiting in her secluded booth Sara was becoming anxious. There were too many people inside the diner and with the arrival of a few more she couldn’t take it. She got up from her booth and fished out the pack of cigarettes she kept in her coat pocket. Unconcerned with what happened to the meat she brought with her Sara grabbed her backpack, and rifle before heading out of the diner. Ace was still busy with his other guests but Sara mumbled something to him while she fumbled to light her cigarette on her way out. “I need to step out for a minute Ace. I’ll be back.” She didn’t slow down to wait for him to answer her heart was racing and she needed to get out of the diner and get some space.

 Outside with her cigarette finally lit Sara was able to catch her breath. “Why the fuck does everyone need to come to the diner at the same time!? Don’t these people have anything better to fucking do?” Sara whispered to herself as she paced outside the diner, even outside she couldn’t find solace. There was a woman riding a horse around the square that quickly drew her attention. Sara was initially startled by the site of a horse, and the fact that there was someone that actually knew how to ride it. She was too flustered by the crowd inside the diner to approach the woman though. Even the small amount of people that were outside were enough to keep Sara wound up so she headed further out of town, smoking her cigarette like her life depended on it. 

 Sara walked along the street leading north out of town coming to a brief rest by a large salmon colored building. She slumped up against the building’s foundation and ran her hands through her matted, greasy hair. In all honesty she was exhausted from the trip down here, she hadn’t been getting the rest that she needed and it was obviously starting to take a toll on her psyche. Maybe she needed to give this whole act up. Stop searching for Eliza, stop coming to this town. Just leave it all behind and keep heading north until she couldn’t go any further. There was no chance at redemption for her. She could never walk with the righteous, not after the things she had done. She was condemned to an inescapable hell either way, best she could do was just accept who she is, and what she’s capable of. There was a time when she would be proud to say that, to spit in the eye of anyone that disagreed with her. Now it just didn’t seem right. Not after she lost Eli. Her world was just not the same without him. She would give everything she ever had, and her own life if it meant that Eli could have a chance to live his. Sara clasped her hands together in one balled fist, her palms were sweaty as she squeezed her hands together trying to knead out the fire that was raging inside her.

 She was fooling herself if she actually thought it would go away. It was too late for that, Sara snapped and spun around to face the weathered stone foundation that was supporting her. “FUCK!” She hammered her fists against the foundation as hard as she could, drawing blood that spattered the stone. After a few strikes Sara exhausted herself and she drug her fists down the wall after her final blow, scraping her skin and drawing more blood. Sara’s eyes were watery but she didn’t cry, she didn’t believe that she still could and she was probably right. She couldn’t feel anything anymore, even pain was fleeting. A quick rush, a burst of adrenaline to remind herself that she was still human was all she could get. Her heart had forgotten what it felt like to care, and she couldn’t remember if she ever did. Even in her memories of Eli she could only remember the times she hurt him, the times that she wasn’t the mother he deserved. She knew deep down inside of herself that she loved him more than she’s ever loved anything else, but she couldn’t convince herself to believe it.

 “Ma’am, is everything alright?” A man’s hesitant voice came from behind Sara as she turned herself to face him.

 “I’m doing alright, and you cowboy” Sara stood up and composed herself, her rifle and backpack had collapsed off of her shoulders and were now laying on the ground. She still had her pistol, but from the looks of the man she could take him. Even with bloodied fists she was confident that if things escalated she would come out on top, although the man’s voice was strangely calming. It was the sincerity in his tone that put Sara off. She wasn’t used to hearing it, that unmistakable kindness that only came from the heart. 

 “With all do respect Ma’am you don’t look alright.” The man was accompanied by another horse, and his clothes were soiled from dirt and grime. It was clear from the streaks on the man’s face and his puffy red eyes that he was recently crying. He didn’t strike Sara as the fighting type but something told her that he had seen his share. His face was younger than her’s but it was just as worn, his eyes were so innocent and stood out from the rest of his face. Almost like another part of him was trapped inside his body. “My names Dutch. I didn’t mean to come up on you like that. I was heading back into town.” He offered his open hand to Sara, hoping she would shake it and lighten the mood.

 “Dutch? That’s a good name for a cowboy.” Sara firmly accepted his gesture with her sore blood soaked hand, shaking it firmly and sneering at the pain.