OCCUPATIONAL HAZARD (Weekend 5-minute Freewrite)

a Weekend 5-minute Freewrite by A.E. Jackson

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Yesterday was Sunday. I should have been Tuesday, but it got messed up. Things were always getting messed up. That's just another occupational hazard when you're employed by the country's largest time travel agency.

When I arrived at my assignment in Tuscon, Arizona traffic was picking up pace. The dust covered street of the desert town was getting kicked up by horses, stagecoaches, and wagons coming to do their business.

Speaking with the Undertaker at the end of the street, I learned yesterday was Sunday. Hence, the Pastor riding past on his black mare was on his way to begin another circuit. Which meant, of course, I was Monday.

Somehow I was put down in the wrong time, again.

I got down on one knee. I was going to pop the question right then, but first I wanted to sweep the fresh horse manure off my leather boots. They were not cheap imitation leather. To look authentic, central office had followed the pattern and instruction found in a local bootmaker's journal. My entire outfit was period accurate.

Clean as I could get them, I stood to question the Undertaker. But he was gone. I turned around to catch a glimpse of him entering the saloon's bat wing doors. Inside, I was certain to find all manner of pleasure that attract clients. But my client wouldn't arrive for another day.

I had to find someone who knew where to find the McNickle Ranch. Perhaps the proprietor of the general mercantile would have an idea. I glanced up and down the clouded thoroughfare, and waded into the old west.

I'd have to keep myself occupied until the tourist I was responsible for arrived.

The way the guitar sounded, drifting from the back of the store and spilling out onto the wooden sidewalk, was enchanting. I keep my travelers in line. They don't alter timelines, or leave mementos for future generations. I do the job. But when I hear the sounds of a period, I can get carried away too.

The tinkling bells blended with the strings and the rattle of my heels on the floorboards completed the spell. I was Monday Valentine, gunslinger.

T H E E N D

© 2019, A.E. Jackson. All rights reserved.

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