Old Town Road

That Damned Old Town Road
The grassy fields contrasted the sandy landscape. The incessant sound of blowing tumbleweeds interfered with that of crunching grass. Although the sweet whistling of the morning wind remained the same. Houses of stone and timber stuck out of the desert like a needle in a haystack. Hordes of merry men and women laboured out in the fields, sowing the fields of fertile land. Ah, yes. This reminded him so much of home. Sigurd had set out to sea a few months ago but nothing had prepared him for the hardships that were to come.

For one his ship had sunk a week prior, a rustic boat of leaking wood, washing him up ashore a nearby Island. A sad excuse for a ship that had broken apart after being caught in the brunt of a storm at sea. To make matters worse his loot was also washed away by the storm, just not on this anyway. A fine day for any fisherman. Sigurd could already imagine the happy lot spending his cherished bellies on alcohol and girls as far as the eye could see. A disgrace to his former principles.

His metallic hand clung to his side bag as he made his way out of the mountainscape and into the town. The last of his loot was in this bag. There was no way he could lose this. Men and women eyed the teen, whispering under their breath, others peeped across their shoulders to catch a mere glimpse of the stranger. Outsiders were not that common around these parts, in fact many of the residents here shared family relations, so you could imagine the joy of seeing an outsider for the first.

Others didn't share this sentiment and tried to boo him out of the town. Sigurd ignored them, hiding the lower half of his face under his tattered scarf, as he strode forward past the unwelcoming townsfolk into the town square.

Businesses lined the quiet streets, businessmen haggled and mingled with the townsfolk left, right and centre. Luring them into their shops to drain them of their bellies, so was the nature of the world. Children, innocent and somewhat pure, could be heard laughing and giggling as they ran up and down the streets. It was a surprisingly fun place to be at. One where even an outsider could feel at home. Well, almost. The moment he was put in the picture the streets died down, as he made his way inside a bar.

Drunken men, armed to the brink, watched him as if he were a rodent walking into a lion's den, waiting to be pounced on. Grabbing a seat near the counter Sigurd whistled for the barmaid, playing with an empty bottle he found lying there. The place was a dump but could you do? When a boy's gotta eat, a boy's gotta eat. His stomach growled as he played with the empty bottle. How long was this going to take? Slamming his hands on the table Sigurd stood up and jumped the counter. He had enough of this.

A mischievous grin painted itself on his face as he faced the fat bastard that was the barmaid, stealing two bottles of alcohol from a shelf before bringing the rest of it down. "Perhaps, in the future you might want to reconsider how you treat your customers, especially those of which might just ruin your liquor for shits and giggles." The barmaid stood there paralysed, mortified, while the room of drunken men flew into an uproar. One threatened to bash his head into the wall while another promised to stuff him inside a turkey.

"Oh?" Sigurd held on hand to his ear in a comical fashion as he feigned deafness, "Is that the sound of an ungreased wagon I hear or is that just my stomach?" The room went quiet for a hot second before erupting into a pool of laughter.