Little joe the wrangler

This is my life my name is tom doolin I'm 17 I was born in 1933 in Lincoln Arizona it's the year 1950 i ran away from home when I was 16 and am now I'm with out a home let's see where my journey leads

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1. cricket

As I ride my sorel cricket across this barren waste land of a place i think of my my dad and how he remarried after my mom died of cancer in 38 I was about 6 I don't remember much all I remember is watching my dad cry over my mom as she Lay like a golden angel dressed in white as the soft wind blew through the grey old curtains on the window and I remember the sun shining through that window like never before and then my dad started yelling and blamed me for what happened to my mother but I didn't really understand Much back then my mind was still young

. My dad remarried an ugly old prune that wiped my twice a day I never did like her but I got used to it and after a while I got so used to it that it didn't much hurt any more coarse I never told the woman that cause if I had she'd just find a new way to hurt me but then in 48 my dad and her left for some dinner done where in town some rich folk I suppose but that night when they left I saddled up old cricket and got the hell out of there and to be honest I didn't really care much to look back so I didn't I never wanted to see that place again and now here I am still looking for somewhere to start a new life as cricket stumbles Pver a rock And whinnies she starts to go down and i push of the smooth worn saddle and jump of at the last deacons right before she fell completely my bum is sore from landing on the ground and my pistol is laying on the cracked ground a few feet away from me it must have fallen out of my holster during the whole thing as I look around old cricket is laying on the ground she's old and not as good as she once was but she was still apart of me and I couldn't lose her not now I have nothing but what's on me and whatever food is left In the saddle bags she looks to weak to get up I search the barren land of dirt for water anything I lookup at the sky I pray and pray for cricket to get up but nothing happens the wind blows lightly and beads I wipe beads of sweat of my face from the burning sun I can't survive with out cricket I make my decision and walk across the soft dirt and reach down slowly pick up my gun turn around and say farewell to my one and only friend that I have ever had then in one quick move I pull the trigger.

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