Post by John yuma on Nov 18, 2009 5:18:17 GMT -5
Oh how could I forget the day John Yuma came to town. What a dark and stormy night in Glenrowan it was. The once soft, dry soil was now moist and eroded from the heavy rainfall the past few nights had bestowed upon our small town. Most shops closed early, I guess there was really no point keeping them open when the 900 odd people there tended to stick indoors in times of wet weather. You see, the people in this town were used to living in 360 days of a dry and irritable heat, leaving the other 5 of the year open to the gods wrath. Days which consist of thunder, lightning, hale and rain. Yes, Glenrowan is a real country town. The people here go about their daily business in the usual fashion of waking up, breakfast, work, lunch tucker, dinner and sleep. Yes, we like our food, but who doesn't? *Chuckles*
Any who, during the five days of the storm, one place remains open and amazingly gains record numbers around this time, the Glenrowan pub. Men and Women would spend days at a time at the pub for it was open 24 hours. Yep, this pub was the place for food, boos and fights. Fighting in Glenrowan has been a tradition since the days of the infamous Australian icon of Ned Kelly. Kelly would box for money and glory in his time, now it seems that people fight for the sheer pleasure of hurting people. In the last year we have had 4 people perish at the hands of the drunken scum that inhabit this god forsaken town. I will never forget John Yuma, the traveler from Darwin who entered the pub that dark night.
His tall and rather large figure stuck out in the crowd, and even more so when he removed his soaked coat from his shoulders, hanging it on the nearby cloths rack. Many regular patrons of the pub that night stayed home for reasons unknown to me... but it was lucky they did, for the drunks that remained, weren't so lucky. Yuma walked up to the bar and sat right next to me. I remember the nerves throughout my body when his eyes met mine, I just wanted to run but couldn't move. I already had my fair share of alcohol that night but I was no fighter, no way no how.
"How about a drink sir?"
Asked Paul Jennings, the owner and operator of the pub. Yuma studied the face
of Jennings and replied...
"No thanks, I am just sitting out the rain for now. "
"Suit yourself, but don't get too comfortable in this place, or you might regret it. I should know. "
Replied Jennings, but Yuma didn't reply. Instead he turned away to face the wrestles mounds of drunks who'd been drinking all day and fighting all night. Some of the regular fighters (Who I cannot recall the name of) had their eyes of Yuma. They weren't accustomed to strangers arriving into the pub at 10:30 at night. Yuma gazed at them, his eyes like one of a hawk hungry for food. The three did not take kindly to Yuma's presence, and decided it was best to approach him and give him a nice...Glenrowan...welcome.
"Look at what we ave ere, a boy must'ah got lost and wondered intah hell!"
Spoke the biggest of the three, slurring every second or third word he'd speak. His English accent stuck out predominantly.
"Maybe we should show thah boy out? But then agehn, that would be tooh nice for us wouldn't it? We gotta teach the boy why we don't let his kind into placez were our kind prospah"
John Yuma did not take his eyes of the larger of the three. I swear I didn't see him blink once. But what I did notice, is the fear in two of those men opposing Yuma. A fear I knew Yuma could see as well. That's why it didn't surprise me why he said what he said. Those words where...
"Good evening gentlemen, I am truly sorry for disrupting your alcoholic ways. But it does sadden me to see three overweight gentlemen like yourselves to dig your graves the way you just did. It saddens me to the point were I am going to let you turn around and finish your lager. If you choose not to do this, I will be forced to dispose of you three from this pub. "
The three men stood shocked, obviously not expecting anything like that to be said, not did anyone else watching. The two silent men of the three crept back, leaving the loudmouth big guy on his own to face Yuma....
"Cowards!"
He yelled as he took a step forward, standing only inches away from Yuma. The tension was as thick as wood. Yuma pulled his hat of his shoulders and replaced it on top of his head.
"This wont take long."
Said Yuma as he stood eye and eye with his foe. The two men were equal in height, Yuma had the toned body, whereas his foe has the body mass of what looked like an entire elephant! At this point in time just about everyone except the drunks that had passed out earlier on had their eyes glued on the two titans.
Moments had passed, the tension was gregarious among other things. What surprised me was neither man seemed willing to make the first punch, but as my Mother used to tell me as a boy, 'Patience is a virtue'. A saying I believe John Yuma lives by. After around two minutes (which seemed like an eternity to me), the man opposing Yuma shouted...
"Go on now boy! Throw a god damn punch! Or are you a chicken like I thought?"
He paused
"Oh, you know what! I'll knock your brains outah your head!"
The foe threw his large arm back, and almost simultaneously threw it towards the jaw of Yuma. The gasps of the crowd (including myself) set the mood in this occasion. As the fist made is torpedo like movement towards Yuma, he quickly shifted his body to the side, allowing the fist to collide with thin air and the largely massed man to stumble forward. Yuma then made his fatal move in clutching the head of his foe and pulled it down, simultaneously sending his knee soaring into his unfortunate temple of his foe. That was all she wrote for the big fella as he slumped to the floor. The inhabitants of the pub stood in utter shock. In what had such anticipation ended in a matter of seconds.
John Yuma looked back at Paul Jennings...
"I will be on my way."
His husky voice setting the perfect tone of the ungodly evening. Jennings had seen many a fight before this one, but it was like none other. It didn't even seem like a fight to me, it was just... well... the big guy got the touch of death, the one hit wonder, the fatal blow. No other words could honestly describe what happened.
As he turned to walk out, I couldn't help myself but yell to him
"Stranger, what is your name?"
He paused, took a breath and replied...
"Yuma...John Yuma..."
He began walking once more, the crowd observing each step as if they were seeing god step from the heavens. He grabbed his wet coat and replaced it upon his shoulders and exited the pub. Silence was all that remained behind of Yuma.... That and a lifeless foe laying on the floor. I know this will sound stupid, but I was entranced with the man, and did the only think I thought was right, I grabbed my coat and followed on after him. I needed to know more about this man, who was he? Why was he here?
From the night John Yuma came to town... my life was never the same.
- Roland Gilead
Feedback appreciated.
Any who, during the five days of the storm, one place remains open and amazingly gains record numbers around this time, the Glenrowan pub. Men and Women would spend days at a time at the pub for it was open 24 hours. Yep, this pub was the place for food, boos and fights. Fighting in Glenrowan has been a tradition since the days of the infamous Australian icon of Ned Kelly. Kelly would box for money and glory in his time, now it seems that people fight for the sheer pleasure of hurting people. In the last year we have had 4 people perish at the hands of the drunken scum that inhabit this god forsaken town. I will never forget John Yuma, the traveler from Darwin who entered the pub that dark night.
His tall and rather large figure stuck out in the crowd, and even more so when he removed his soaked coat from his shoulders, hanging it on the nearby cloths rack. Many regular patrons of the pub that night stayed home for reasons unknown to me... but it was lucky they did, for the drunks that remained, weren't so lucky. Yuma walked up to the bar and sat right next to me. I remember the nerves throughout my body when his eyes met mine, I just wanted to run but couldn't move. I already had my fair share of alcohol that night but I was no fighter, no way no how.
"How about a drink sir?"
Asked Paul Jennings, the owner and operator of the pub. Yuma studied the face
of Jennings and replied...
"No thanks, I am just sitting out the rain for now. "
"Suit yourself, but don't get too comfortable in this place, or you might regret it. I should know. "
Replied Jennings, but Yuma didn't reply. Instead he turned away to face the wrestles mounds of drunks who'd been drinking all day and fighting all night. Some of the regular fighters (Who I cannot recall the name of) had their eyes of Yuma. They weren't accustomed to strangers arriving into the pub at 10:30 at night. Yuma gazed at them, his eyes like one of a hawk hungry for food. The three did not take kindly to Yuma's presence, and decided it was best to approach him and give him a nice...Glenrowan...welcome.
"Look at what we ave ere, a boy must'ah got lost and wondered intah hell!"
Spoke the biggest of the three, slurring every second or third word he'd speak. His English accent stuck out predominantly.
"Maybe we should show thah boy out? But then agehn, that would be tooh nice for us wouldn't it? We gotta teach the boy why we don't let his kind into placez were our kind prospah"
John Yuma did not take his eyes of the larger of the three. I swear I didn't see him blink once. But what I did notice, is the fear in two of those men opposing Yuma. A fear I knew Yuma could see as well. That's why it didn't surprise me why he said what he said. Those words where...
"Good evening gentlemen, I am truly sorry for disrupting your alcoholic ways. But it does sadden me to see three overweight gentlemen like yourselves to dig your graves the way you just did. It saddens me to the point were I am going to let you turn around and finish your lager. If you choose not to do this, I will be forced to dispose of you three from this pub. "
The three men stood shocked, obviously not expecting anything like that to be said, not did anyone else watching. The two silent men of the three crept back, leaving the loudmouth big guy on his own to face Yuma....
"Cowards!"
He yelled as he took a step forward, standing only inches away from Yuma. The tension was as thick as wood. Yuma pulled his hat of his shoulders and replaced it on top of his head.
"This wont take long."
Said Yuma as he stood eye and eye with his foe. The two men were equal in height, Yuma had the toned body, whereas his foe has the body mass of what looked like an entire elephant! At this point in time just about everyone except the drunks that had passed out earlier on had their eyes glued on the two titans.
Moments had passed, the tension was gregarious among other things. What surprised me was neither man seemed willing to make the first punch, but as my Mother used to tell me as a boy, 'Patience is a virtue'. A saying I believe John Yuma lives by. After around two minutes (which seemed like an eternity to me), the man opposing Yuma shouted...
"Go on now boy! Throw a god damn punch! Or are you a chicken like I thought?"
He paused
"Oh, you know what! I'll knock your brains outah your head!"
The foe threw his large arm back, and almost simultaneously threw it towards the jaw of Yuma. The gasps of the crowd (including myself) set the mood in this occasion. As the fist made is torpedo like movement towards Yuma, he quickly shifted his body to the side, allowing the fist to collide with thin air and the largely massed man to stumble forward. Yuma then made his fatal move in clutching the head of his foe and pulled it down, simultaneously sending his knee soaring into his unfortunate temple of his foe. That was all she wrote for the big fella as he slumped to the floor. The inhabitants of the pub stood in utter shock. In what had such anticipation ended in a matter of seconds.
John Yuma looked back at Paul Jennings...
"I will be on my way."
His husky voice setting the perfect tone of the ungodly evening. Jennings had seen many a fight before this one, but it was like none other. It didn't even seem like a fight to me, it was just... well... the big guy got the touch of death, the one hit wonder, the fatal blow. No other words could honestly describe what happened.
As he turned to walk out, I couldn't help myself but yell to him
"Stranger, what is your name?"
He paused, took a breath and replied...
"Yuma...John Yuma..."
He began walking once more, the crowd observing each step as if they were seeing god step from the heavens. He grabbed his wet coat and replaced it upon his shoulders and exited the pub. Silence was all that remained behind of Yuma.... That and a lifeless foe laying on the floor. I know this will sound stupid, but I was entranced with the man, and did the only think I thought was right, I grabbed my coat and followed on after him. I needed to know more about this man, who was he? Why was he here?
From the night John Yuma came to town... my life was never the same.
- Roland Gilead
Feedback appreciated.
