All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Problems: Ch1 Pt iv The hour long lesson dragged on. Social Science was found in the oldest block of the school, quite ironic for Modern Studies. The teacher was old, decrepit and a hunchback. He blatantly ignored his need for a walking stick -he was knit from the old stuff- and shuffled very slowly around his room. There was no real dislike of the old man, he was kind, observant and a good laugh on the odd occasion. Stetson just couldn’t concentrate during his classes. In one final lap of the room, allowing his class to settle, the old man began to speak. “Today class, we will approach a very raw, and relevant topic. One which may resolve in your #lifetime, but not while I still draw breath, I fear.” He paused, before continuing, “Open notebooks.” The command was hastily carried out. An usual tone had entered the old man’s voice, demanding attention and respect. “April 6th, 1994. A plane was shot down, carrying a cargo whose fate changed the lives of hundreds-of-thousands.” Pens scribbled down the facts. “The fate of that man -a President Juvenal Habyarimana- was death. The result? Well the World’s most infamous genocide. President Habyarimana’s death was the catalyst that has led, up to this day,” The old man made emphasis on this point, “to the wrongful deaths of almost twenty percent of Rwanda’s population. Thats right, the infamous Rwanda Genocide. The Tutsis were killed for no reason, other than the fact they were Tutsi. Reminiscent of Hitler’s campaign in Nazi Germany. Discrimination people, is still very real in today’s society”. The old man rambled on. Stetson enjoyed the old man’s way of teaching. He stood up and preached for an hour. It was up to his pupils what to note down, and what to glaze over. If only the content wasn’t so boring. Stetson’s morning continued on, going from class to class. His break he spent alone, his nose stuck in a damn good book with music gently coaxing him into the expanse of his imagination. Stuck in the Malebolge, exiled from the foyer (admittedly by himself), the heating finally kicked in and sweat hung on Stetson’s brow as he regretted having his hoodie still on. The temperature increase broke his concentration, obscuring his vision, leaving him only capable of seeing words. Closing the book, Stetson stood up, leaning against the corridor wall as a prop, and slung his bag over one shoulder, tugged his fingerless gloves further up his arm and began his aimless march around the multiple blocks of the school, in a feeble attempt of procrastinating. The more he tried to forget about her, the more she became the elephant in the room. He’d seen her, almost every day, and after each, she stood out even more. She was like hailstones, here one minute, and gone the next. A sudden voice echoed around the labyrinth of intertwining corridors. Stetson tugged at the pale rubbery cable of his headphones to recognise the voice. He didn’t. The volume escalated: a female voice; seemingly angry; filled with emotion. Stetson twirled around trying to figure out which way the voice came from, before following it further into the Malebolge. The Girl stood there, animated, gesticulating wildly with one arm, while holding a mobile in the other. Practically screaming down the phone, Stetson caught her off guard and she jumped in shock as he stood there quietly observing. Making excuses down the phone she hung up and turned towards Stetson she looked at him, eyes inquisitive, face neutral. “God those eyes” Stetson thought. Stetson always noticed eyes. Whenever, upon entering a house, there were pictures in the hall, he looked into the eyes. It told him everything, from “not another picture, PLEASE” to “smile, just please them, I’m a happy person, apparently”. Eyes are like a book. You can just glaze over them, or read them and be told a story. These eyes, her eyes, were full of everything. Most people had one emotion prevalently shown in the eyes; happiness, sadness, excitement, and the like. Hers; they were different. Stetson gazed into hers and saw an abyss. A portal to oblivion, so many emotions secreted away in those eyes. “Do you mind?” The Girl questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I find your constant stare somewhat the perfect balance between ‘stalker-ish’ and paedophilic.” Stetson looked on in mild horror, before breaking eye contact with The Girl and swivelled looking to make a quick escape. “The only exception being...” Stetson paused, curiosity apparent; satisfied, The Girl continued: “the only exception being, by law, my age which would then constitute paedophilia being rendered as inappropriate -I’m over the age of sixteen- which would leave only sexual assault, but I find that a bit harsh. Ergo, I’ll stick to paedophilia. I also have a weird obsession with words containing an ‘a’ directly followed by an ‘e’. Its hauntingly latin.” The Girl raised her hand, pulled her hood over her head and tugged it further over her face, almost as a statement, before stuffing both hands into her hoodie’s pockets and leaning back against the Malebolge’s wall, a glint of curiosity evident in her eyes.

All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Problems: Ch1 Pt iii Looking over towards a corner of the large foyer, a sight tugged at Stetson. A girl -The Girl- sat, knees touching her chin, with sleek white headphones barely visible against her pale complexion. A bright green hoodie modestly portrayed her slight curves, while skinny jeans, of the black variety, clad her lower half. She stared, blankly. Ahead of her the world kept turning, oblivious. Stetson had gazed, each day, at the sapphire eyes, hidden in the shadow of her hood, an enigma, he wanted to solve. Glancing one last time at her, Stetson entered Malebolge. A great crowd of kids were funneled into the over-cramped corridor, large enough for barely three teens standing abreast, yet still, people stood at the sides, disrupting the flow. All around him, Stetson saw sheep. Nobody was different, all the same. Girls ran around in mini skirts with their asses hanging out, covered in fake tan to the point of ridiculousness, earning their nickname ‘tangos’. The talk was, of course, superficial, which boy was the hottest, and the lust burning in their loins for him. The boys were hardly any better: Trousers falling, unrestrained, exhibiting underwear and talking of the last time they wanked and which girl following them had the biggest ‘jugs’. It made Stetson sick. Huddled around each other in groups of falsehood. No one dared to be different, or, if they were, they were shunned and exiled to anywhere of isolation -normally the Malebolge itself. That thought brought Stetson back to The Girl, sitting alone, content, yet saddened somehow. “Here comes The Freak!” A junior shouted. A path parted in the corridor, a gauntlet, much like Moses separated the sea. Stetson didn’t stop, he kept walking, down the gauntlet, all eyes shifting to him. “The vultures have found their carcass” he thought, “it’s time to feed.” Jeers and curses followed Stetson on his pilgrimage through the corridors, he knew what it was like, he suffered it daily. well every other day perhaps. His Modern Studies classroom came in sight, a tiny room with two thin sheets of MDF acting as a door. Stetson twirled around, his satchel providing a circumference of safety from the crowd. “Hey, I’m sorry man” He called to the junior walking a few metres behind him. The boy looked over at Stetson quizzically, suspicion apparent. “About the Cancer” Stetson’s head bobbed in the direction of the beanie covering the entirety of the boy’s head, covering his baldness. Chemotherapy does that. He saw the boy earlier when he took it off. Stetson recognised him as a boy from a few years ago. He suffered from #depression due to some family ‘stuff’ and went to the school nurse for ‘therapy’ around the same time Stetson did. He began to notice the boy’s complexion whitening; and his hair receding; and the weight-loss; and the dizziness. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together and make five. Being melodramatic pays off sometimes. “They give up, eventually.” Stetson said “Once the novelty wears off. It might take a few years”. And with that, Stetson disappeared into the classroom. Leaving the bewildered boy to face the remains of the gauntlet alone.

All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Problems: Ch1 Pt ii Stetson woke up sweating, convulsing uncontrollably, pale as the snow he dreamed of. It had been the same nightmare each sleep since the accident. He tried all the “therapist’s” techniques, but they were as much use to him as a burger to the clinically obese. “Deep breaths” Stetson willed, eyes glued to the ceiling, gently lit up by the warmth of the December sunrise. As usual, it didn’t work. He lay there, immobilised for a good ten minutes before his spasming muscles relaxed. #life had changed drastically since the fateful night thirteen years ago. Social services had given his father guardianship of Stetson, much to the protest of the adamant four year-old. After the sensation of relaxation washed over him for a good five minutes, Stetson rolled out of bed haphazardly. Dark patches under his eyes betrayed the drowsiness that cascaded Stetson’s senses. Hunched over, the trek to the shower began, slowly at first, but rapidly Stetson picked up speed as the chill air bit into his exposed arm. It was never too cold for shorts and a t-shirt. Or so he believed. Traversing the hallway in almost record timing, for a teenager, Stetson’s balled fist knocked on the switch to activate the power shower. Twenty minutes later, Stetson emerged from his domain and wandered downstairs. A rich smell of bacon and eggs greeted his curious nostrils as a brilliant burst of sunshine filtered through the half-heartedly opened blinds, which surrounded the glass patio-style kitchen/dining area. A blast of heat struck Stetson square in the face, a complete contrast to the rest of the large, detached house. The constant frigid temperature was one of the few common ideas Stetson shared with his guardian. “Morning Stetson!” The cheery, deep voice of Jon, Stetson’s father called. “Sleep okay? Sounded as if you were sleeping like a log.” Stetson mumbled a reply, his mouth already half full of thick, fat-less rashers of bacon before either he, or his plate found their designated targets at the table. A steaming hot mug of strong coffee was ready and waiting by Stetson's placemat. He took a long draught before sighing to himself, forcing his heavy eyelids to stay awake. "Hypersomnia" Stetson thought to himself, shaking his head. "You remembering about seeing ... Erm what's-his-face tonight? Have a good session anyway, I'm stuck in the surgery 'till late." Jon said casually, trying to mask the concerning his voice, but failing. Pretending to ignore the comment, Stetson shovelled down the remaining eggs left on his plate into his mouth, and left a trail of crumbs on the beech laminate flooring as he began to briskly walk into the hall. The morning sun radiated through the frosted glass front door. Stetson walked towards the light, slinging a satchel full of his schoolwork over his left shoulder. Snow lay thick on the ground. Although the sunlight caused a slight increase in temperature, the sub-zero air exhaled in great clouds as Stetson closed the door behind him with a silent clunk. Stetson trudged through the ankle-thick snow. A harsh wind lashed out at him, Stetson responded by closing his thick hoodie, and bundled a woolen, multicoloured scarf around his revealed neck. “Stetson!” a voice exclaimed, with the body attached appearing soon after. A youth, swaggered over towards the bundle of clothes that was Stetson himself. Dark grey eyes peered out in an inquisitive manner. He embraced Stetson in an awkward, yet kind enough hug. Squirming in an attempt to be released from the viperous grasp, Stetson squeaked a greeting, releasing the final breath of air which inhabited his lungs. After an awkward several moments of embrace, both figures trundled onwards down the street. An easy conversation struck up between the two, covering unlikely topics of conversation for two youths: classical poetry and the turning points of gothicism; the difference between modern and impressionist artwork; the advancement of genetic modification and the consequences it may pose on modern society; and the existence of Higgs Boson. They parted ways at the street of Stetson's academy. Although a slightly better off than most people, Stetson’s dad’s choice of school was ambiguous. It was an oppressive building, relatively new, but built for a fraction of the current number of students. However, in a feeble attempt to modernise the place, a glass fronted foyer protruded into the grassland facing the public road. ***

All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Problems: Chapter 1 Pt i “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina Chapter 1, line 1. Stetson wandered over to the car. The raised voices behind were no concern. He was as happy as a four-year old could be, walking around the garden; everything a new and wonderful experience. A bright winter sun gleamed on crisp, white snow and made Stetson’s reflection in the window stand out. He started waving at himself laughing in the bubbly way of a child, innocent and immune to the real world. Stetson shed the big parka jacket he was wearing allowing it to freely fall into the soft duvet of snow surrounding him unhindered. With the intent of child-like havok. At that moment, the snow seemed more exciting than his reflection. Bouncing around like a cricket on steroids, he destroyed the perfect, untouched snow: making snow angels; or sending a cloud of snow upwards, pretending it was really snowing. The volume of the voices escalated. Stetson stopped, worried. He knew something bad was going to happen. No-one had shouted yet, a good sign, but inevitabilities stay inevitabilities and Stetson figured something would happen. Looking around, a patch of the garden remained untouched, so he made his way over. The patch was situated outside the small kitchen window, next to the flower patch. It was here that the only splash of colour could be found (bar the blue estate car, driven haphazardly into a makeshift driveway); Poinsettias, a deep, vivid crimson, lived in the flower bed. It was Mum’s pride and joy. Everyone else in the neighbourhood had tried, and failed to grow the notoriously difficult plant, but somehow, she succeeded. Stetson loved them, the rich colour and large leaves; and the fact they blossomed during winter, when all else dies. Fractions of the conversation grazed his ears “Why do you even bother, just keep the kid!” The assertive voice could have cut like a knife. Stetson looked up from the flowers momentarily, and then proceeded to ignore whatever the adults were doing. “He doesn’t even need to see him! Did he ever show interest when you were married?” The same voice urged. Stetson grew tired of hearing arguments. He skipped away, slightly annoyed at being disturbed by their arguing, but still in high spirits. Stetson loved the snow. It was one thing he was ultimately fascinated about. Last year, he spent days, staring out the window at the magical compound falling from a granite sky. A chill wind blew, sending sprays of snow off the roofs of nearby houses. Clouds rolled over, coating the sky in a cataclysmic veil, as the temperature plummeted. Stetson meandered over to his jacket, hastily discarded, before picking it up, and reattaching it to his body. It provided meagre shelter against the buffeting wind. “Stetson! Honey, come in! We’re going.” The sickly sweet voice of his Mum called. Upon arrival in the kitchen, a suitcase of proportionate size to Stetson was thrust into his arms, but not before being scooped up and turning into an airplane at the hands of Aaron, dad-in-waiting. He was kind enough and made Stetson feel special, had something of a fine-tuned moral compass, but he always spent more time with Stetson’s mother than he did with Stetson. The slow rumble of fuel igniting in the pressurised container of an engine broke the magic between Aaron and his airplane. They jogged out together smiling, although sadness could be detected in Aaron’s greyish-blue eyes. Spinning around three hundred and sixty degrees Aaron slammed the key into the lock of the front door twisting twice, until it could twist no longer, before finally sprinting a few metres behind Stetson letting him scramble into the car and scream “I beat you!” as Aaron launched into the front passenger seat. He secured his seatbelt and leaned over to Stetson’s mum and pecked her on the cheek after whispering something secret in her ear. “Stetson, look at the snow!” Aaron exclaimed, obviously wanting to take Stetson’s attention off the tear that slid down his mum’s face or the crimson outline of her eyes or the estuaries of red radiating towards her pupils. Stetson saw it all. Imprinted memories, engraved upon a blank slate. The car pulled out of the drive and weaved its way through the network of roads that made up the spiderweb of suburban travel routes. Indie music pulsated through the small car stereo, intoxicating Stetson into a sweet lullaby of rolling drum rhythms and smooth guitar licks. Lights flew past like shooting stars breaking through the wall of falling ice which surrounded them as they turned off onto the motorway. It lasted a few seconds. Then it was over. Little diamonds flew from the window as the truck plowed through the side of the car. It didn’t stand a chance, the chassis may as well have been made out of cardboard. Metal shards lacerated everything that stood in their way. Stetson glanced up at Aaron as he flung his arms around his face in a feeble attempt to protect himself. Stetson’s vision blurred and screams drowned out his thoughts. Pain seared through his body, blackening his vision. The last thing Stetson saw; his mother’s head, contorted in pain, covered in blood. Then, the roof caved in. The screaming stopped. Abruptly. ***