Covered Wagon Escape

It's 1889.

In a territory that will soon be known as the Dust Bowl.

You're a disrespected man, and the powers-that-be are hot on your tail by horseback.

Holy Grover Cleveland.

You need to make your escape. Or you need to resist. Your two choices are flight or fight. And you need to think... like a Wildmyan.

He chews the last of his foodstuffs from his "bag-o-roots," and continues Westward. He is unsure how he has ended up in this time period, or how he has ended up in this place, but he takes no extra time in reflection. He's Wildmyan. Each and every move is dictated by instinct.

He hasn't showered in weeks, but that's okay, because he never really showers anyway. He was caught in a squall three weeks back, and that's fixins enough for Wildmyan to be feeling fresh by his own standards.

Just how in the hell did he end up in the middle of Oklahoma?

"I HAVE NO GOL DAMN IDEA HMHMHMHM." Wildmyan murmurs to himself.

He has put many miles into his size 11 Coyote Skin boots.

But he is not weary. Wildmyan has been a man of bipedal locomotion for as long as he can remember. Fueled on roots, cactus water, and aforementioned coyote carcass, Wildmyan continues on.

What he would give to find just one wild cranberry.

He's been to New Mexico, Southwest Texas, Northwest Mexico, a few villages in Baja California, and Tallahassee, Florida; but none of these nomadic expeditions ever seemed quite as hopelessly shit-desolate as Oklahoma in 1889.

Not one wild animal worth strangling. Not a soul to be intimidated by the Wildmyan howl. Just a bunch of god damn Sooners that only care about one thing... Settling.

They were so engrossed in finding a patch of land, that once they found out Wildmyan did not speak more than three words of any possible dialect, they decided to outnumber him and shoo him off their plot via covered wagon.

What a batch of bullshit.

Wildmyan knew he had to teach them a lesson.

No better time for sabotage than 1889.

And teach them a lesson he did, and thus the legend continues...


Combining time-travel with land-travel is not for the soft in the testicles. It is a trying time for anyone who has experienced it. And when you get stretched to your limits, it becomes imperative to direct your strain onto those that have wronged you.

And those that wronged Wildmyan, were none other than those very god damn Sooners.


"Yee-Haw," exclaimed a lasso-wielding settler upon arriving within visual vicinity of Wildmyan.

"Yee-Haw RIGHT BACK ATCH YER!" Wildmyan replied... somehow understanding this implicit challenge.

For what seemed like a biblical lifespan, Wildmyan and the lasso-wielding settler circled each other in anticipation of a deadly quarrel.

"COME AND GIT IT!" Wildmyan bellowed.

The lasso-wielder wielded their lasso ever the more tightly.

Owing to his intimacy with nature, Wildmyan could sense the fear imperceptibly emanating from his adversary.

At the apex of fear pheremone emanation, Wildmyan would strike.

Before the lasso-wielder could even begin to establish momentum within his rope, Wildmyan sprung to him and his horse like a Silverback Gorilla on hunger strike. Shortly after the execution of this acute movement, the lasso-wielder and his horse were both eligible for a headstone.

Wildmyan quickly dispatched this newly-formed enemy and ate the entrails of his horse even faster. It was truly a sight to behold...if only it could have been recorded somewhere in the annals of history. Let it be noted that nothing besides this very essay commemorates the feat of Wildmyan on that day back in 1889.

What went down that dusty Oklahoman afternoon really does accentuate the essence of the phrase "a picture is worth a thousand words."

It's just too damn bad Wildmyan has never seen a picture, nor spoke anywhere near a thousand words.


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