The Really Wild West

This is the kind of altered version of a story I wrote in seventh grade. Interpret it for yourself. You WILL ENJOY IT!!!!! (ha ha!)

The Really Wild West

         "Oh, Rodrego, I can't bear to leave you!" wept Isadora.

         "Don't worry, baby, we'll be back together soon," Rodrego said, giving her a reassuring hug and a kiss. "Nothing could seperate our love, not even evil villians bent on controlling the world's oil supply and making bad commercials. Nothing," he added thoughtfully, "except maybe death. Yeah, that might do it. But nothing else."

         As Isadora climbed into the wagon that would take her far from her beloved, she sent him one last blow kiss and cried, "I'll never forget you, my dear Rodrego! Not for as long as I --" She hiccupped, lost her balance and fell back into the wagon. The dust of the desert swirled, and gunshots sounded, as if signifying their fate of seperation. Isadora was going to the East to live with her rich aunt, and Rodrego was staying in the Wild West. None of it was their choice, but all of it, as some say, was destiny.

-------

         Suddenly, the wagon Isadora was riding in jolted foward. She whipped her head up from her hands and gasped. The driver was the one whipping the horses' flanks!

         "Heh heh, little missy, you're not going anywhere near the East!" the driver shouted. Isadora let out a scream and tried to retain her balance in the wildly rocking wagon as she grabbed her suitcases. She tried to jump, but just then the wagon halted to a stop. Isadora looked up into the face of her her man, Rodrego, who had heard the commotion and ridden out there to stop the wagon on his gallant steed Ridelgo!

         "Come on, honey, jump up, and we'll get outta here!" Rodrego said, patting the horse. Isadora abandoned her luggage and gladly jumped up. Rodrego spurred Ridelgo and off they went.

         No sooner had they gone twenty yards when Rodrego stiffened, drew out his gun with his left hand and shot the wagon driver behind him. Isadora, who was deaf in her right ear and hadn't realized that Rodrego had been shot, was confused. But she got a hint when she spotted a bright red spot on his arm. "Oh, my honey! Rodrego! You've been shot!!"she screamed. Somehow regaining her composure very quickly, she grabbed the reins with her arms around Rodrego and kicked the horse.

         Narrowly missing the gunshots of the wagon driver's conspirators, they arrived in town quickly, and Isadora started screaming for help. "Help!" she screamed. Rodrego quieted her.

He whispered, "They could be evil villians, cupcakes, bent on controlling the world's oil supply or making bad commercials, for all we know."

         "But Rodrego, you're hurt!"

         "Of all people, I know, sweetheart. But you've got to save yourself!"

         Isadora took no heed of his words and steered the horse over toward the doctor's. About a foot away from the building, Rodrego gasped and trembled, grabbing at his chest. His last words were, "Honey-bunny suger-plum, my sweet little angel, the only thing I love more than chocolate-covered cherries that --" he gasped. "I LOVE YOU!" Then he died and slumped over and off the horse.

         "Rodrego! My baby honey pumpkin!" She lept off the horse with gracefulness that she might have appreciated at any other time and knelt beside the fallen Rodrego. "Nooooooo! It was only his arm! Why?! WHY?! Ohhh!" she screamed hysterically, staring up at the sky through her tears.

         (Then the narrator of the story answered) "He died of a heart attack Isadora, because you wouldn't listen to him! Or it might have been those six triple whoppers from Micky D's... But anyway, look up!"

         Isadora looked up, and terror filled her heart and crept into her otherwise comely face. There were the townspeople, walking zombie-like toward her, guns... um, pointed. "Oh!" she cried as she lept up and tried to flee. She didn't get very far as she was trampled by a stray horse.

Save sixteen percent on your wagon insurance by switching to Weico! Only sixteen minutes a day, and your wagon could be insured!