Buck's Photo Tales



A Bad Day

Written by Uncle Buck

The Amazon Gleaner muses to herself as she goes about attending to her business affairs ...

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The Gleaner sniffed the air cautiously and then slipped the straps of the pack she carried from her shouIders and lowered it to the ground with a gentle thump.
Just up ahead of her stood a place that the Amazons called the Citadel.



It was less than a week ago that she had heard of the battle that was taking place around these walls
and she had set out immediately.

And so now as she peered warily about it took no more than one sniff of the air to tell her
that she had little if anything to fear of the multitude of bodies she was soon to discover lying about this rugged terrain.
Still and all, the Gleaner had little doubt that she would not have survived for as long as she had were she not the soul of caution, and so she retreated to the cover of one of the rocky crags for a moment of rest.

And it was here that she sighted the bodies of two of the many Amazons killed in the battle and so she decided that this was likely as good a place as any to set about her work.



The Gleaner reached into her pack, ran her hand about carefully for a moment or two, and pulled out a small wooden box.
She flipped open its cover and selected a cheroot which she placed between her lips.
Tucking the box back amongst the few essential supplies she carried, she fished out a blue tipped kitchen match, scratched it on the grip of the knife at her belt, held the match to the tip of her cheroot and puffed lightly.

It was not so much that she had become addicted to tobacco.
It was simply that she liked to have a somewhat more pleasant aroma under her nose than the one that seemed to emanate from everywhere around her.

Both the cheroots and the matches to light them were gifts from the old man she had befriended over and away on the other side of the Amazon Gate.

The Ohio Blue Tips served to add to her mystique.
The Amazons, or at least the more primitive among them seemed to think that the Gleaner's ability to command fire at her fingertips was nothing short of magic.
They were intrigued but at the same time wary of her, suspecting that a witch was in their midst.
The Gleaner figured that this only served to enhance her reputation, such as it was, and added to her protective coloration.
Her supply of cheroots and matches was dwindling.
She would have to call on Buck Simpson again some time in the none too distant future to see whether working a few of her womanly wiles could coax a fresh supply of smoking materials out of the old boy!


The Amazon Gleaner is Melissa Dettwiller

The Gleaner sighed as she bent to the task at hand.
As she eased an arrow from the torn breast of yet another fallen warrior, she supposed that there were those who fancied that hers was or could be a rather delightful occupation.
But as far as she was concerned, nothing could be further from the truth, and many was the time that she wondered how she had allowed herself to be drawn into this in the first place.


Marcar

No, aside from the fact that these women had been cut down in the very prime of their lives, the brutal truth was that, any morbid attraction aside, and no matter how attractive she may have been in life, any unwashed corpse stank of blood, decomposition and excrement.


Marcar

As any animal died, the bladder and bowels would void expelling their contents.
Add to that the fact that in this climate decomposition set in almost immediately and you had a situation that made keeping a lit cigar clenched between her teeth seem a most attractive idea.


Marcar

And of course there were those who apparently took delight in reducing their victims to little more than heaps of steaming entrails. The Gleaner was thankful that such did appear to be the case today.


Necromancer @ CnB Enterprizes

Amazon warriors were known for their willingness to meet death head-on.
And so, as often as not, the woman took a blade or shaft to the chest or gut, whereupon she would fall over backward, leaving the weapon that killed her undamaged and making it a relatively easy procedure to remove it from her body.


Marcar

The Gleaner examined the shaft of an arrow she had wiped clean before tucking it away in her quiver with the others she had collected.
She paused in her labors to light one of the last of her cheroots.
Now she really would have to make it a point to visit Buck Simpson and soon.


Marcar

Old Buck would of course be fascinated gaping at the bodies of these fallen female warriors.
But he would not at all enjoy the fact that any one of them was actually dead or had even been hurt in any real way.


Marcar

At first Buck's concept of killing and death as a fantasy was a concept that eluded the Gleaner completely.
Killing was after all a serious business in which pain, suffering and death were all natural events.

Only gradually had she come to realize that for those who were well removed from the reality of it, death could become a fantasy; a sort of game.
A game such as she herself could recall having played back when she was a youngster a fair number of years ago.
And as an individual matured, or at the very least reached adolescence, the Gleaner came to understand how it all could become a form of sex-play.
Sort of.


Marcar

The birds and other animaks of prey were becoming increasingly impatient and obviously wished to have the Gleaner's corpses to themselves.
They were becoming more aggressive and seemed to be encouraging the Gleaner to be on her way.
Having pbserved no other sign of life whatever, the Gleaner decided that it was likely safe enough to brave the shadows of the Citadel and to venture a look inside its walls.


Marcar

The Gleaner had no idea just what had precipitated this particular confrontation and so far she hadn't even been able to determine which side was which nor who was fighting who nor even why?


Marcar

The Gleaner was thinking that she would like to happen upon at least one survivor so that she could gather some inking of what had brought this skirmish about.
But from all indications there seemed small possibility of her doing that.
Her conclusions on the matter were likely to be limited to observation and conjecture.


Killville

Isolated as it was, no one with whom she had contact had any idea who had built the Citadel nor for what purpose it was originally intended.

What became increasingly evident to the Gleaner was that whatever the original intent, this place had become a place of worship ...
Worship to a diety that was not the least bit welcome to the the women who came to be claimed as the sacrificial victims whatever the religious ceremony may have been otherwise.



Killville

They evidently were a bunch of belly-rippers!
Whatever else they professed to believe!

The Gleaner grumbled aloud.
Just look at this!
She paused to admire the pike that had been driven through a woman's navel.
Then she eased it from the victim's belly and wiped it methodically.




Killville

Had she had any say in the matter, the Gleaner would always prefer to see that her victim had been thrust through the chest -
Much as this one had been ...
It seemed somehow to show more in the way of respect for the victim.
In some way it allowed her some measure of dignity ...
To be thrust through the bosom ...
Rather than to be stabbed in the belly ...
Not that it made the least bit of difference in the long run ...


SusyFight

So this was what had been at the crux of the matter ...
A religious ceremony ...
The Amazons were not known to have practiced human sacrifice in any religion of their own.
The Gods-That-Were seemed to respect the fact that the life of any Amazon was quite apt to come to an abrupt end on the sharp end of some pointed weapon.
There seemed to be little reason to demand further sacrifices in the guise of religion.


Catharsis

But then of course, not every woman who chose to swing a sword, heft a lance or draw a bow was an Amazon.
But people tended to lump all fighting females together either out of ignorance or for the sake of simplicity.


Catharsis

Perhaps the Warrior Princess, Xena was the most notable example of a fighting female who was not of any Amazon clan.
But who would pay any mind to that fact in the long run?

But the body laying before her was most certainly that of an Amazon warrior.
The Gleaner had recognized her for what she was by the tatoo that was prominantly displayed across the dead woman's lower belly.


Catharsis

A Tzarrbird Warrior no less!
And very likely it was her ritual killing that had provoked the slaughter that had resulted in all this carnage!
She came upon a pair of women who been shot down by arrows which the Gleaner promptly havested and tucked away with the others.
She wondered whether these two had been part of the invading force -
Or perhaps they were members of the congregation -
Or they may have been merely awaiting their turns as victims upon the altar?
The Gleaner shrugged.
It mattered little now.
The end result for all those present had been much the same.


Amazons!

Having had looked around enough to satisfy her curiosity, the Gleaner made her way out of the Citadel through an entrance that exited somewhere to the rear of the building.



Even here, apprently far removed from the front lines, there were the bodies of those that had fallen here in and around the battle for the Citadel.


Marcar

It was growing late in the day.
Night would be upon her shortly and though she would steadfastly deny being the least bit superstitious, the Gleaner had no desire whatever to camp anywhere near this battlefield.
Gleaning from the dead provided her with a way to eke out a living.
It was not to say that she had any desire to share her bed with any of these unfortunates.


Marcar

No, at this point, having gathered that which she could carry, and having satisfied her curiosity to the best of her ability, she set her sights upon putting as many miles as she could between her person and this battle site.

Even though it had turned to her advantage, the Gleaner had arrived at the time in her life where she felt that almost any loss of human life was an unfortunate and sorry affair.
And her own business here was in its way the sorriest of the lot.

It had been a bad day for the women whose corpses she had left behind at the Citadel.
But then it all just lent further credence to her credo ...
"A Bad Day Living Beats Any Day Dead!"*


*Tami Hoag


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