Jared Joseph
Jared Joseph
Jared Joseph draws inspiration from a diverse array of artists, including the visceral blood-stained storytelling of Quentin Tarantino, the expansive universes of the gaming industry, and the iconic illustrations of Akira Toriyama. His writing demonstrates the potential to stand alongside some of the best contemporary voices. A recent graduate of Fresno State, Jared resides in California's Central Valley, where he is committed to providing a platform for writers to shine in their unique brilliance, encouraging them to take pride in their identities and creative expressions.
Bounty
“Is the sheriff in town today?” The bartender stops polishing his glass, puts it down slowly so as to not chip the bottom, and awkwardly looks around his saloon. He speaks not to attract attention. “The sheriff has been dead for two days, son.” Shock hits me harder than any steam train could. My stomach flips and my heart collapses on itself. My hands are shaking and can’t stop. The older man sits and sips a beer. He slaps money onto the counter, “Give the kid a beer on me.” The beer slides over to me as the foam pours over a bit. I gulp to calm my nerves and keep my anger from exploding. The silence is killed by the voice of the older man next to me, “If you don’t mind me asking”, he says while taking another drink,” But what business did you have with the sheriff?” Memories of that day are forced to replay in my head. The screams from my mother, the wheeze coming from my father's collapsed lungs, and the raging fire that claimed our once lovely home. I hesitated but decided to explain anyway. “Well, it's a complicated story, but in simple terms, he killed my pa. He and his crew rolled up to our door when I was a boy. Turns out he owed them money that he hadn’t given back just yet. They killed him, turned to my momma, tied her up, and lit a match, ransacking the place before they realized I was under the bed, except one of them made eye contact with me as he set the place on fire. That person was the sheriff of this town. I never forgot their faces. So, when the time came for me to be a man, I looked all around for him and his men until I gunned them all down. He was the last one.” I tried holding in the pain but couldn't take it anymore and began to cry, still trying to keep it down while I kept on choking on my misery and pure disappointment. The two men who could see the misery let me get it out. “Do you know who did it ?” I asked after cleaning myself up. The old man grinned. “I wish it were me, that way I could get a beer on you. But all I did was point a bounty hunter in his direction.” I can only stare at the countertop. I’m confused about why I wasn’t angry or even sad to know that my father’s killer was already dead. Not even frustration would come to me anymore. “You okay son?” “Yeah just still, taking it in.” I paused for a while shifting my attention from my beer to the counter. We sat there for a while. Someone made some quick cash over my kill, my duty as revenge for his father. However, that someone also saved me the trouble. Inside I knew I was afraid to meet my father’s maker face to face again. The old man continued to sit with me until he finally said something. “It's okay son, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.” “You’re right, I just wish it was me.” “Well, if it makes you feel any better, everyone in town wants the bastard dead as much as you. Guy was an asshole.” We slowly met eyes and when I looked at him I slowly started to laugh. I slapped money of my own on the counter. “A shot for us both please.” The bartender obliges and as I drink I’m beginning to think of what I’ll say to that bounty hunter once I meet him. “A fine gentleman who paid me back for the beer, hell I never thought I would see the day.” We sipped our beers empty before I mustered up the courage to ask him. “Do you know where the body is? I’d like to see if it’s the man I’m looking for.”
“Sure, it’s lying in the jailhouse next to what was his desk. Buddy who shot him put him right through it before firing.” We walked to the jailhouse just across from the saloon and the stench of this body was already starting to show as we walked in. He looked much older than I remembered him to be. These past two years had aged us both. Same scars on his face. Same stupid shirt. Same ugly boots. “Yep, that's him,” I said aloud to the man. I looked into his pockets as the older gentleman just watched as I did. I pulled out what I had been looking for. Pa’s key. I didn’t know why he took it, but I knew that starting today, it was time I found out.
Crossfire
It was a sudden occurrence as I was awakened at about two in the morning to the sound of two people I know well bickering about their love. However, the arguing that was increasing in volume, by now had built up to a point where it can only be described as shit hitting the fan. I could tell it was bad as they didn't argue loudly during the work week. I tried to ignore it, but this was different, the venom in their words was more deadly than before, each sentence a sting to us all. I couldn’t help but stay awake that night in case I needed to jump up and escape. As I heard them get louder and I even tried crying to see if it impacted me in any sort of way. My acting was on par that night as I contorted my face into one that would cry real tears but my eyes were as empty as a trash can after garbage day. Nothing. Not a single glimpse of a drop was felt. I jumped down from the top bunk of the bunkbed I and my older brother were sharing at the time, getting dressed as I prepared myself in case my mom was ready to say fuck it and leave the house. My father began renting from a coworker this long-width house in the middle of the Boondocks as the fighting had led him both to lie about paying for the mortgage and not fighting to stay in our now former home.
I tried coming up with an escape plan in my own head, coaching myself on this situation my mother was in. I tried to reassure myself that she needed to be as far away from this man as possible as I believed the only way to lose him was to get thoroughly away from him, enough for him to not follow us. I gave myself a game plan and said it aloud to convince myself it was a solid plan.
“I just need to bang on the door, and tell her that we need to get the hell out of here.” And yet of course I had no idea where we were to go but I knew that being out of Fresno was better than being in Fresno itself, so maybe, just maybe, we could have decided to start fresh, make it difficult for a bit while we rebuilt from scratch. But that was not the way the scenario decided to go.
I opened the door of my bedroom and was immediately met with the door of my parent's bedroom as it was quite literally the door across from mine. The thin walls of their closet along with this door were the only barrier between the rest of the house and the battlefield that was inside that room. There, I stopped in my tracks right then, and there I could feel myself not needing to take in air, not breathing to not let my parents know that I was listening from just outside the door. In a slight panic, I began to search for my siblings to see if they either were in their rooms or somewhere else besides the warzone. Along the same side of the hallway was my sister’s room and the door was wide open and pitch black indicating that she was either not there or somewhere else in the house. As the rest of the house showed no other signs of life I realized quickly that both of my older siblings had put themselves inside the room that my parents were fighting in. Both were inside the warzone, watching as the napalm struck and burns everything they thought was love to the ground leaving but ashes of memories, now tainted as they are spat upon.