Jack Kidman's Return Of Dallas: A Fictional Narrative

Jack Kidman watched as the dust settled around the tips of his boots, the old leather synonymous with the rotting wood of the bank. 2:15 in the morning was not sitting well with him, and the effort of thinking had his head pounding. Sighing, he looked back to his brother, who was alert and tense. Dallas, the younger of the pair, held his revolver loosely in his right hand. Hunched in the shadows, the glint of the gun was the only thing that stood out about Dallas’s dark figure. Jack looked across the dark ghost of a large chandelier to the other side of the lobby, where another silhouette crouched. A quick, sharp whistle echoed across the room, and the three men stepped silently into the moonlight. “Do not be seen. If any of these town folk
Jack Kidman looked deep into his brother’s eyes, searching intently. He scanned over and over again, praying that he would find it, but it was not there. All of the light and life had drained from Dallas’s eyes. Wanting to scream but not finding the strength to do so, Jack watched as Dallas disappeared from view behind a falling support beam, the flaming pole hitting the floor with a resounding thud. He turned deliberately towards Paxton, but the murderer was gone. A sudden tingling came from his toes, and Jack noticed his boots had caught fire. Again, however, he had not the strength nor will to do anything about it. Most of his sense of feeling was gone, his brother was gone, and he was ready to burn. The next morning, Jack Kidman woke with a start, hitting his head sharply against a solid rod of metal. He opened his right eye to see that he was in a jail cell, caught and convicted of his crimes the night before. He sat up, more aware of his surroundings, and attempted to look around. His left eye would not open, and he ran a finger over the eye socket. Burned and sealed by the flames, his skin had melted over his socket and solidified. He would never see from that eye