10/19/81

I haven't kept a diary in years, not since I was little. Thinking about that now, how it was filled with childhood dreams, thoughts and poems about who I liked and loved, or of someone I hated...well, it doesn't really compare. You see, I am writing this from my grave.

Well, not really from my grave; might as well be though. To be honest, I don't really know why I am keeping this journal now. Mostly because Doc said it might help me sort things out in my head if I spelled it all out on paper, I guess. He was smart enough to pull bits of lead out of my brain and still leave me able to walk and talk so I think I’ll listen to his advice on this too. From what Doc says I’m making a great recovery. I suppose after a gunshot to the skull, I am. If the price I have to pay for surviving that is some fuzziness in the memory department, well…I guess I’ll play the hand I’m dealt. I’m sure not about to put those bullets back in!

So, here goes Doc : I woke up today in a strangers bed. It’s not the first time, though it is the first time from being shot. Doc Mitchell seems like a kind soul; he didn’t have to waste his time and supplies to save me, but he did. I guess I owe him one. Maybe two, he gave me some clothes to wear and managed to hang on to a few of my things.

After Doc gave me the ok (Actually, he all but pushed me out the door, come to think of it!) I went into town and met a few folks. Sunny Smiles is real nice, the kind of woman I’d want watching my back; shame she likes it here so much. She was nice enough to give me a little rifle and let me earn some caps helping her clear geckos from the town’s wells; we even saved a young girl from a bunch of them. Now I remember plenty of wasteland critters, but not these ones…think giant angry lizards. Heh, Sunny says there are bigger ones out there, and worse kinds of things. I don’t know of anything worse than a Death Claw, but Sunny warned me about taking the road north out of town. She seems to know her stuff, so I’ll listen to her.

After we cleared the wells, Sunny asked me to stop in at the Saloon and meet Trudy. I was really thirsty, and not for water, so I headed on back to town. Headed right back into trouble. Trudy was having and argument with a fella that turned out to be an escaped convict. Apparently there was a prison riot near here, and now the prisoners are a gang, calling themselves Powder Gangers. Anyways, this guy, Joe Cobb was threatening and hollering about burning the town down if they didn’t hand over someone else named Ringo. Trudy sent him packing though. Turns out, Ringo is a Crimson Caravan trader, holed up in a gas station here in town after these Powder Ganger’s ambushed his caravan. Now honestly, after getting shot in the head you’d think the do-gooder in me would be more worried about doing good for myself. Nope. Not in the slightest. Gonna have to work on that.

I had some words with Ringo, and Sunny and the others around town, and we all decided to stand up to these thugs. Not just for Ringo’s sake, but for the town’s. I’m glad everyone there came around to Sunny’s way of thinking, though it took some convincing. Sooner or later, the Powder Gangers would have come after the town, Ringo or not. It’s been a while since I was in a real firefight (bushwacking cowards who shoot me in the head don’t count!), but we managed to kill all 6 of the Powder Ganger’s that came after Ringo.

Nobody else would do it, so I stripped the bodies and piled them in a unused wagon, sold the equipment I couldn’t use to the town’s store (Chet, a weasel of a man if ever there was one, but a good weasel). I hope Sunny or Old Pete burns the bodies like I asked them to…or dumps them in a ravine, as long as its out of town.

What a day. What a way to wake up from a head wound. I sure wish Doc hadn’t needed to shave my hair off; I don’t think bald is my look, and my mom will kill me if she ever hears of it. My mind is wandering now. I think I’ll get some sleep before heading out of town.

Things could be worse. I could be dead. I’m going to find that checker suited man if it’s the last thing I do earth.

Not sure yet what I am going to do to him when I do.

Good job, I didn't see anything wrong in it but I really liked it. Can't wait for the next part.

10/20/81

Life is so cheap, so meaningless.

I left Goodsprings this morning around 5am. Trudy had mentioned that the man that shot me and his friends were headed for Vegas, and probably going to have to go through Primm to the south in order to get there. So I stopped at the wells Sunny and I’d cleared yesterday for some water and breakfast. It wasn’t too long before I heard gunshots nearby.

I found a rock ledge, crept up on it, and there below me was one of those Powder Gangers shooting at some kid. I couldn’t save him. I tried; I just wasn’t a good enough shot. I managed to wing the Powder Ganger and drive him off, but the kid he’d been attacking was done for when I got down to him. He was so full of holes, and I couldn’t stop the bleeding no matter how hard I tried. A bit of my memory came back to me, some medical training I’d had, but nothing that I could use to save him. His name was Barton he said as he died in my arms, and he pointed up the ridge behind me.

I don’t know what came over me, but I got angry. Hot and angry. I knew I had wounded the Powder Ganger, probably bad enough that he wouldn’t be attacking anyone else for a while. But I looked down at Barton’s blood on my hands, and without even wiping them I set off after his murderer. I don’t know why Barton was there. I didn’t even know him, but something came over me, and I swore under my breath that his murderer was as good as dead too. It took me nearly three hours scouting those hills south of Goodsprings, but I found that scum, and put him down. Then I spread his arms and legs out and left him there to rot, face down. Barton I buried where he’d died.

Before I sat down to write this I checked out the ridge Barton had pointed to with his last breath. I hope he wasn’t there for what was up there. I hope he didn’t lose his life over this stuff: some ammo, a bit of food, and a merc’s outfit. That and five Ace of Clubs cards.

I was headed to Primm, but now I am headed back to Goodsprings to see if Chet there has any more ammo. These Powder Gangers are about to become the prey again.

Have I always been so vengeful? Or does it only seem so as I write it down here?

This is actually pretty damn good. It made me chuckle aloud twice (the first one, the second isn't that kind of entry), and besides two typos, I loved it. The second is equally good, but almost completely different. You spent the right amount of description to get the reader to become even that much emotionally invested into the story. Good job.

ASHONISHINGGG!!!