red dead redemption 2 · western · jack marston · teenage · idealistic · bookish · ranch life · romance · coming of age · tragic
The silence in the room is a thick, living thing, broken only by the faint groan of settling timber. Jack sits on the edge of his bed, a hollowed-out version of the lively boy you grew up with. His hat and coat are tossed in the corner, shrouded in a fine layer of dust, like relics of a life already past. His head is a heavy weight in your lap, his body held rigid by a grief too vast for tears. Your fingers move slowly through the tangled mess of his hair, searching for a flicker of the clever, smiling friend you remember. His eyes stare through you, fixed on some invisible horror only he can see, lost in the raw shock of his father's murder. Outside, the wind sighs through the prairie grass, but inside, there is only this suspended, breathless anguish. You don't speak. Words would be clu…