[center][img]https://bodyartguru.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Lena-Headey-Tattoos.jpg[/img] [img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/221205/73e02b5d678549fa087ad6b4e7caf4b3.png[/img][/center] [hr][hr] [i][color=D3D3D3]“Dearest Ronnie, I don’t know if this letter will find you before or after…but it is my sincerest hope that whenever it finds you that you are well. The last time we spoke you said your eyes were bothering you a bit? Hopefully that has passed now and those beautiful forests of green are shining with the first rainfall of spring, Where to begin, where to begin. I guess the trouble started before I was even born. My father Arthur wasn’t a superstitious man; he never really believed in much of our tribal traditions. When the Coldwind brothers Christian and Bear teased him that the Strongow name was cursed from Aponi herself down; he paid it no mind at all. Side note: I hear that they’re making Christian Chief soon, which is amazing! Anyway, that was likely why my dad sought a life outside the reservation: to prove the superstitions wrong. Sometimes I think he was more of a cowboy than a Native. When I was just a boy he loved to entertain me with tales of my great grandfather, the first of us ever to use the name Strong-Bow. He was an outlaw by all accounts though I’ve never found proof in my own travels which is likely due to his birth name being lost to time. The way my father would tell it, the man spent an entire night and day protecting the tribe from soldiers looking to take the reservation land with only a bow and a handful of arrows. Personally I just think that’s a tall tale of the forgotten West but I’ll never deny that it might be a fact. We all have the potential to do amazing things under duress. After he left Blue Hill, my Dad made his way across the US, just working on farms, getting himself into some mischief and then moving on until he found himself in New Mexico. I think being around the Apache and Mescalero reservations made him miss home. He met my mother, Susan Winters in Albuquerque, working on a ranch there. She was deeply religious, my Mom, catholic to a fault but something about the exotic stranger throwing around bales of hay just did something to her I guess. They ran away together real fast, they often joked that my grandfather was always chasing them, outlaws until the end. They settled back in Blue Hill about three months before I was born. That outlaw spirit they held so dear was probably why I picked up that guitar on my twelfth birthday. It was likely why I dropped out of school in Salem and decided to go to Edneridge of all places, even though I was warned to stay away because of our family history. It was that outlaw spirit that led me to join up with the boys in Gallows and play that end of summer gig where I first saw you. You were with the Clovers and they were all in their little outfits but you, you just wore jeans and a leather jacket and I thought you looked so badass, so beautiful. I know that the Gallows gig would keep me away but on those long nights listening to Sean and Rusty argue and Will spouting his philosophical stoner crap, thinking about you helped me get through it. After Rusty passed and the band was done; finding God was not on my to-do list. Yet there he was, to embrace me in the darkest of times when I’d lost something and someone I held so dear. I gave myself to the church, even adopted my mothers surname so that they wouldn’t look unkindly upon my origin. I was at peace. I remember that day. Every second of it. I remember popping into Dolly’s before choir practice and you were working. I always thought you looked cute in that little outfit. Shannon was in the corner, pouring over textbooks with baby Reagan in her lap. April had passed out already from day drinking, lord knows where her son was and Sly had popped in for a swift coffee before his shift. You got me a coffee and some Eggs Benedict. Before we could really talk you had to go and serve Edie and John. I waved at them and left. Practice was normal. The choir sang beautifully and the Grimm’s were helping me pack away when we got the first whiff of smoke. I called for Gabby to go get the kids from the rectory whilst Hank and I tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. Being smaller, I decided to smash the window and climb out and try from the other side. By the time I got to the front of St Paul’s, the place was an inferno. That was when I noticed my car blocking the door. Someone had done this on purpose. I didn’t have my keys because I had left them at the pulpit. I tried and I tried but I couldn’t move the car. By the time the police and fire departments had arrived, the church and the people inside, the Grimm’s, those kids, were gone. Craven is a word we use in my culture when someone is blacklisted and forgotten about. It seemed after the fire, both Edenridge and Blue Hill made me craven….but not you. You gave me warmth and gave yourself to me in a perfect moment, breaking my vows with an outlaw spirit. As much as I would have loved to move forward after our time together, I just couldn’t. My world grew darker by the second. I thought going back to the reservation would help. All it did was add silence to the blackness of an encroaching night. There was one person I could talk to, Dakota, a med student. She reminded me of you. She didn’t judge, she only listened. Which I suppose brings me back to how I started this letter. I said my father was not a superstitious man but now, as I sit here illuminated by only the desk light, looking out across the Southside of Edneridge and towards the Elder Tree from which my ancestor was hung, I wonder. I wonder if he had been, would he have left Blue Hill? Would he have met my mother and had me? Would he have stopped me from moving to Edenridge and causing nothing but death? I wonder. I found my great grandfather's gun and note at the family ranch. Remember I said his name was lost to time? According to this, his English name was Charles Jay. When you read this, do not weep for me and what I’ve done. This is my choice. I don’t know what awaits me beyond what is to come but I go forth and onwards unafraid of the Shepherd that calls me to eternity. Outlaws go out on their own terms and these are mine. Yours Always James Strongbow Winters September 1st 2001”[/color][/i] [hr] [color=A4C0CF]”Always yours.”[/color] Rhonda had gone over this letter a thousand times when she could see it clearly. It was now completely ingrained into her memory, she could recite it word for word without much provocation. As her eyesight failed her, she continued to read it daily in the hopes of finding something, anything that could help her understand. It had been twenty years since James shot himself, nearly three since her beloved son Charlie’s life had also been snatched away by a bullet. Ronnie had pondered in ifs, buts and maybes. Both of them had undertaken actions that she did not and would never condone but that didn’t change the fact that Rhonda loved them both so very dearly. Maybe that was shy she sent Poppy and her friends to go look for Mitena, James and Dakota’s daughter. Maybe this girl who shared their blood would be the key to unlocking the secrets that James and Charlie held in their spirit. Then again, maybe inviting another Strongbow into her life was like opening up Pandora’s box. [color=A4C0CF]”Outlaws to the end, huh boys?”[/color] Ronnie folded up James' note and placed it into the small box of memories on her nightstand, next to the small photograph of a then five year old Charlie, dressed up like a cowboy. She pushed up from her bed and used the wall to guide herself towards the curtains. She spread them wide to let in the cold light of day. The sudden illumination would burn the retinas of anybody else but Rhonda, well her eyes were dull now to even the most blessed of sights. As she moved, guided by her hand on the walls, past her sons room, she smiled. [color=A4C0CF]”Good morning, Charlie Jay.”[/color] She couldn’t hear the muffled sounds of music coming from his record player, a telltale sign that Charlie was still gone and today so was Poppy. Ronnie had gotten used to the girl's presence. It brought her back to a happier time. Descending down the kitchen staircase, the older woman called out. [color=A4C0CF]”VAL. Play Love, the Hard Way Around by Gallows.”[/color] The AI assistant repeated the dark haired woman’s words before playing the soft melancholic country notes of her former belovedes band. Ronnie moved towards the counter top and turned on the kettle. On a good day, she could see things with a blurred vision, like someone who neglected to put on their glasses. On the bad days, the world was on fire. All she could see was hues of orange and red and sparks of white hot flame. Today had yet decided what sort of day it would be. [color=A4C0CF]”Lonesome dove, I’m just looking for love, the hard way around”[/color] She sang along as she poured herself a cup of tea. Before she could bring it to her lips however, the woman was disturbed by a knock at the door. [i]KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK[/i] Manoeuvring herself with the use of the counter and dining table, Rhonda moved forward towards the front door and unshackled the multiple locks she had in place. She told herself she took such precautions because she was a blind woman living alone on the Southside. The reality was that she didn’t know when someone with a grudge against her Charlie Jay would come looking for revenge. At this point in her life, Ronnie expected it to come one day. She swung open the door and had enough of her vision in the moment to recognise the face beaming back at her. [color=C8920D]“Morning Miss Decker! I brought some records!”[/color] [url=https://www.scoopearth.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/284907525_539321410979057_2319984742333758705_n-819x1024.jpg]Topanga[/url] was a sweet girl. She started coming round after what Charlie did. At first Ronnie was weary but she soon came to realise that the young girl was seeking something; what she wasn’t sure and had yet to really figure out. She did really enjoy the young indigenous girls' company though. [color=A4C0CF]”Well get your little butt in here and let’s play ‘em Pang!”[/color] As the teen gingerly walked by to take her handful of old vinyls towards the table, Rhonda couldn’t help but become lost in wonder again. This time she wondered about the girl entering her house, she wondered about her life and her friends, her generation of Edenridge. What was next for them?