A Thing Immortal : A Tale of Western Horror

by Barry K. Gregory

“I know why you won’t give me your name,” he said. “I know the truth. You didn’t surrender it. It’s there. In your heart. In your soul. Your name means the world to you. It’s all you have left. You didn’t give it up. You’ve locked it away in a secure spot. You’re protecting it. Hoping desperately that someday, you’ll be free of this place, free of all the men who’ve taken advantage of you and held you against your will. Then, and only then, will you take that name out of its locked box. Until then, you’ll keep it hidden, secreted away. Until then, you’ll pretend you gave it up and forgot all about it. But that’s not the truth, is it? Your name is your hope. It’s what you cling to. The only thing you’ve held onto through thick and thin. You struggle through your days in the hope that sometime, somewhere far from here, you’ll get to speak your name aloud once again. That you’ll get to introduce yourself to a stranger and hear them say your

name back to you with kindness in their voice.”

“You’ve got to be more careful, old man. Just because you’re still alive three hundred years after you were born doesn’t mean you can’t be killed. Immortality is only good until it isn’t.

“Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks.”