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About This Author
 Kiya is a young woman with many interests. She's got a degree in Computer Science and Registered Nursing.
She's an avid reader and considers Stephen King one of her favorite authors.
She's also been known to pen one or two stories here and there, and as a proud moderator of Writing.Com, she invites you to check out her portfolio (and even better, to sign up today!).
Published Works:
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The Bradbury Chronicles #1092010 added June 22, 2025 at 3:03am
Restrictions: None
McGee's Morals
It was a ghastly building.
Sure it was no different from the other hastily-constructed wooden shacks around this godforsaken town, but it sure did reek of a disgusting scent he had thought long abandoned in his wild youth.
“Top o’ the morning to yer, McGee!”
He grumbled something akin to a ‘g’morning’ in response, while wishing the grinning portly man in his shiny britches and top hat would get struck with lightning. Where the hell was the fella from anyway? Someone said he had come in a boat from some place called ‘Aireeland’ – (ain’t in the good ol’ U.S.A that’s for darn sure). It would explain why he sounded like a goddamn chicken struggling to speak while its throat was being slit.
Attached to the man from Aireeland’s arm was a dainty little thing; all pretty in her flowery skirts with a bonnet hiding a shock of long yellow hair as bright as the sun. McGee figured if he were ten years younger, she’d be running into his arms and not stuck to that fat red-headed bastard’s. She didn’t look too happy neither. In fact, McGee was darn sure she wasn’t getting the goods at home, if you know what he meant.
She might have given him a small smile in greeting, and McGee responded in kind. Her visible flinch didn’t deter him; after all his tobacco-stained teeth (with some missing) weren’t exactly the sort of thing to attract the ladies, but hell. What did they know? Back in his day -
“Not coming to the service, are yer, McGee?”
Jaaaysus Christ! This fella was still talking to him?
McGee struggled hard not to roll his eyes. He tipped back on his rocking chair and flashed another cynical grin.
“What am I gonna do there?” he drawled; his voice a raspy growl that could still put the fear in his enemies should they tempt him. “Jaysus Christ gonna pray for me or sumthin’?”
Behind them, couples or families trudged toward the ghastly building. Some flickering curious or cursory glances at the conversation taking place in front of the nearly empty saloon.
It was a quiet morning for the most part. The harlots and zealots from the night before were still trying to get their beauty sleep.
Only the Righteous were awake; heralded by the solemn clang of the bell signaling the beginning of another day of worship.
“Won’t kill yer to stop by,” the Ginger insisted. His smile was still as bright as ever. His companion looked even more uncomfortable. Her gaze was now trained on the dusty ground; her shoulders slumped a little.
“Today’s sermon should be a good one,” Ginger continued. “The good reverend will be talking about the need fer us to join together…to walk on the path of Good and resist temptation.”
As if on cue, one of the doors to a brothel flew open to reveal a half-dressed giggling harlot draped around the arm of a gunslinger with a weary but satisfied grin on his face. A pale breast was exposed to anyone who cared to see, and McGee almost snickered as a mother was hasty to cover her child’s eyes; their disapproving and shocked stares most gratifying.
“Such a sin,” Ginger muttered, despite the dark glint to fill his eyes at the sight of such blatant debauchery. “Such a terrible sin.”
“Oh yeah?” McGee sneered and took a swill of his bourbon; the hot flavor dancing upon his tongue and warming his insides. Ah, nothing beat the good stuff first thing in the morning.
“And who made you Lord and Savior over us, eh?” he asked.
“She’s going straight to Hell,” came the sudden quiet commentary which had McGee, and even Ginger, looking around in surprise.
Gone was the shy expression on Blondie’s face. This time, it was replaced with a gamut of emotions that seemed to run from disgust to jealousy to…desire? Strange.
“Couldn’t agree with yer more, me dear,” Ginger agreed with a firm nod and a puff of his chest.
The drunken couple were now weaving their way down the street; ignoring their mortified audience. McGee couldn’t help bursting into a guffaw when the harlot lifted her skirts to flash her womanhood in full view to a particularly frowning couple.
Ah, good ol’ Charlotte. She was one of the best, he had to admit. Nearly cost him a dollar to spend a couple of hours with her, but it was worth every damn cent.
“Hell?” McGee sneered as he staggered to his feet to tower fully over the couple at the bottom of the saloon steps. “Hell is where hypocrites like you go to every Sunday.”
He pointed to the ghastly building with the big cross sticking above it; whiskey bottle in hand. His grey eyes turned hard as flints.
“You come preachin’ to us about Good and Morality, and look down on the rest of us, because you think you’re better than us, don’t you? Well guess what, Ginger! You can stuff ya goddamn morals, ‘cause we’re the good guys. Every stinkin’ low life and cretin that can crawl around this godforsaken pit of a town is ten times more honest than any of you sons-of-bitches.”
He downed the rest of his drink and gave a loud burp; laughing out loud as Blondie shuddered in revulsion.
“And as for you,” he motioned toward her. “If ever you really want to get a good lay, come by here anytime. I’ll be glad to help with that. Looks like he ain’t doin’ such a good job anyway.”
Watching the color drain from Ginger’s face and the opposite occur in Blondie’s was enough to have McGee doubling over with laughter. They muttered something about not being late for service before almost running away in shame.
Hypocrites, he thought with a smirk as the church bell tolled again.
One of these days, he was going to torch the place right down to the ground.
Let’s see what their God would have to say.
__________________________
Word Count: 1,000
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