taming demons - beginning

This is the beginning of a (somewhat) short story, true to my personal recollection. I began writing it last July, hoping to submit it later to the Risk! podcast, but never found the motivation to continue writing it. I started it again early August, and this is what I've spat out so far. Enjoy.

Missoula, Montana was not a town for the weak. Its yellowing mountains hoarded secrets only intended for the weathered farmers and hippies that could handle the sharp air and haunting ravines. The old souls that wandered the dirt paths, heading home to their warm, familiar cabins, are the only ones who know the beast that hides in the shadows, dances with the prickling firs, and whistles to the tune of sleepy breaths.

The rusting minivan trudged heavily down the highway, spitting and sputtering on its last gasps of oil. The silver car paint peeling around the windows framed Ryan’s angular face; she slouched against the frosty glass, chin in hand. With each sigh of boredom, the world separated from her by the thin pane became blurry and white for a moment, then cleared again so she could continue following the mountains with her glittering eyes.

All your life you’ve never seen

A woman, taken by the wind;

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Will you ever win?

The car stereo crackled out Stevie’s smoky and sometimes adenoidal tones as Ryan drifted in and out of sleep. Her father had been driving for around six hours; the southern dakotan plains slowly rose around the tired family and developed into billowing mountains. Those bruised and bloodied hills lingered behind as they drove into the daylight, and Montana welcomed them on their journey, their only warning an occasional cautionary sign regarding bears and angry moose. There are no signs for those lost in the boundless forestry, only memorials. A beefy hand reached back and tapped Ryan’s knee.

“Hmm?”

“Thirty minutes to Mizz,” her dad told the road in front of him.

A two-week long road trip to Ryan’s father’s hometown of Britton, South Dakota, (endearingly referred to as Not So Great Britain),  had eventually extended into a detour to visit her mother’s brother Matt in Missoula. Ryan’s older brother and sister were not thrilled about their postponed return home to Austin, but Ryan could not wait to see her beloved uncle. Their relationship was different than that between Matt and Ryan’s siblings, in that they shared the same heart in mind.

The old minivan continued to toil and labor down the seemingly infinite highway until it made a sharp turn onto an old dirt path. Where the path ended, Missoula began; the town was asleep save for a few shopkeepers and hunters. These individuals kept to themselves, and Ryan’s family idled in the town square, invisible to the bronzed and wrinkled faces floating by. Ryan stared at the hairy brutes clothed in leather and flannel, knowing they welcomed her and only her. The car grunted and Ryan was carried away, further into town towards the diner where Matt was waiting.

Will you ever win?

Will you ever win?

The corroded van pulled up to a humble Mom and Pop restaurant with a huff and, ashamed, fell silent as the key was pulled from the ignition. Ryan and her family slid out of their seats one by one, grateful for the chance to stretch their aching legs. The five tired bodies wandered into the restaurant, each looking in a different direction at the decor saved from the 1970s. It was when a towering, bearded man donning tattered blue jeans and a hunter’s coat sauntered cooly up to the group that they perked up excitedly.

“Uncle Matt!” Ryan exclaimed, running in for a hug.

“Kiddo!” the man replied with an elation not first noticed by the naked eye.

Matt was a tired thirty-year old gentleman that loved nothing more than his family and the mountains. He wore hundreds of exhilarating tales on his prickly face and told them with his leathery hands. The forest in which his home stood encased him in isolation, just how he liked it.

The six ate their eggs and bacon and pancakes, and were ready to leave for their likely grungy motel farther into town.