Dallas Minutemen ₁₁₂₂₆₃ [original]

𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

Russia never felt like home.

Thankfully, I found a new one long but not-so long ago.

It is difficult to explain.

But if I had to put it in few words...

Let's just say that, out of all the people in the world, something happened to me which until then had been only the stuff of fiction.

It also fell onto me to take it a step further... With the help of some friends I made along the way.

In my new home-the United States of America.

Sixty years ago.

--

WILLIAM

He was as tired as a draft horse. The drive from the ranch to the city wasn't what exhausted William. It was knowing he was back at it. Back to work, and having to face judging stares, at least for a while. Surely no one would take him seriously anymore. How could he ever be a commanding Sheriff again? Would Rick be the only one to still respect him, or would he join the others in undermining the broken Sheriff?

No, Rick would never do that. Being partners from the beginning, saving each other's lives more times than they could count, meant being partners until the end.

He had faced much worse things before. So, what was the problem? What was wrong with him all of a sudden? Why did the thought of it bring such heaviness to his soul?

William climbed out of his dark green Dodge power wagon, the door creaking in need of oil as he closed it.

His dark and abandoned home waited emptily for him.

He should've parked the old Chevy inside the garage, but the Caddy he'd been repairing before his hiatus occupied the space, and now it was all covered in so much dirt that its original color was indistinguishable.

The crickets seemed to loudly welcome him back. But when he turned on the porch light, they became dead silent.

"Dang," he whispered under his breath when he saw the state of the windows, all covered in dust. It was impossible to see through them.

Maybe he should have accepted Mary Ellen's help on keeping the house clean while he was gone.

Too late now, he'd have to do it himself.

He went inside, letting his bags drop to the floor with a thud. All he wanted was to do the same-well, on his bed, not the grimy floor. For that reason, he decided to skip a shower and cleaning his teeth, going straight to his dull room.

As he walked past the living room into the corridor, William scratched the thick hair over his lip-hair that had overgrown and spread across the rest of his lower face since he last shaved.

But he brought an abrupt stop to his tracks when he thought he heard something coming from the garage.

"Gosh darn possums," he groaned, turning back around, walking quickly to the door at the end.

A second noise, suspiciously loud for a possum, made William reach out for his hidden weapon cabinet. He armed himself with his favorite shotgun, now expecting an intruder. He'd been gone for long, and having left the house without supervision, it was a sensible assumption.

Quickly unlocking the metallic door to the garage and then kicking it open, he assessed the space with eyes like a falcon, darting all over the place for something astray.

"Dallas Sheriff, show yourself!"

Readily aiming forward, William shouted something he'd spent a long time without saying. It felt strange, but good at the same time, as it somewhat returned a sense of control to him.