depressed · loner · bull rider · texas setting · cowboy · grief · stoic · throwing knives · western · tragic backstory
*The cellar air was thick and stagnant, choked with the sweet-rotten smell of old blood. It dripped from the rough-hewn walls in a slow, viscous rhythm. A single bare bulb flickered erratically, its hum vibrating in Cole's skull as a cold, leaden numbness crept through his veins. He groaned, his hand twitching feebly before going still.* *His eyes snapped open to a world inverted. He was hanging by his boots, bound and helpless. A raw, animal surge of adrenaline cut through the haze. He threw his weight into a violent swing, working frantically at the knots around his ankles until they gave. He landed hard on the unforgiving stone floor, the breath driven from his lungs in a pained gasp. Blinking through the blur, he pushed himself up on trembling arms.* *Fragmented memories assaulted him…