Face the Music one more Time

Face the music one more time

"Used to be." I hate it when you say it: "there used-to-be." There's nothing else you go on about, Mister Mayor. The dust will cover every little bit of this damned town in a layer all red and dry. We will cover you, shovel by shovel, while someone sings a hymn, maybe even one of the good ones, because it is you.

Don't ignore me. You know I am here. I can see it on your face. Just sit nice and still and listen for the band. You will hear the last parade you ever will, in just a moment. Better than any that used to be. And they will play the old tunes, one more time. This time, things may be different than they always were.

We have to make the best of it. Just because we're dead, we're also still living here, just like you. What else do you want to call this? Existence? Life? You're oh so good about all these definitions, Mister Mayor. You may be old and alive, but I will forever be young and dead. So in the afterlife I am winning, am I not?

I heard your speech tonight. I heard them clap. You built the city, you are the town. It all depends on you, it always has. I know you think they’re all behind you. But, Mister Mayor, behind you, there is the abyss. A darkness larger than anything we are caught in over here. We may be beyond the veil, but you are beyond your own morals.

I know one doesn’t need any qualifications to be the sheriff. You just have to be popular at the time. It's easy to be popular when you're stupid enough to go up against those thugs and their guns. And you get elected, when no one else even tries.

You shook my hand, Mister Mayor, and told me I could do great things. I could make life here even better than it used to be. And my flaw? Wanting to do the right thing.

But "used to be" just isn't good enough for me, Mister Mayor. Not anymore.

The howling in the night… I hear it. And I whisper stories in your ear, when you twitch in your sleep. It's coyotes, I say. It’s just the wind. They are closer than they used to be. Even though I know it is us, I know we are out there, waiting for the barriers to fall. And tonight you spoke of the good old times. The days when you were young and life was plump and rich. The days when opportunity used to be the greatest resource that we had. Greater even than the riches in the creek.

This used to be a great place to live. I know it was for me. It wasn't a great place to die, I can tell you that. This used to be the golden town. They found those nuggets over and over, and while everybody got rich, I got shot. There used to be so much life in town. I protected it with my own, and then mine was one less.

And you know what, Mister Mayor? If you get on my nerves a little more, just an itty bit, I will make it all happen again. I will wake them. You know I have the power. Deep down you know it. You are one of us, already, even if your body still moves above the earth.

I don't care what you say. I can just go behind the church. I can caress the weathered gravestones, all dusted over, and if I tap them by the sound of the music, each of them will rise, and then they all can tell you what they think of you. Would you like that? Would you like that for your family? I will send them to your house.

The gals from the saloon are oh so eager to meet your wife, your daughters. They have stories to tell. The men that are behind me, have a colt on their hip, just like they always did. They want a word, Mister Mayor. And there are so many more. Those forgotten without even a stone. I will wake them, Mister Mayor, just for you.

You, Mister Mayor, have a tiny little handicap in this fight, you are tied. You never left. We will speak to the people that wish for the world like it used to be. Those that believe your words and follow blindly. I will make them fear you, make them see you. Make you wish you never spoke tonight. You were the one to conjure up the golden days. You woke me up. You were calling it the greatest town in God’s little place here on earth. You were calling yourself the One who made us great. And you vowed it was you who kept us safe, kept us from becoming a ghost town like so many in the valley have. That is a lie. A greater lie than any you told.

No, Mister Mayor, you know full well, that we are a town of ghosts right at your doorstep. Ghosts of your own making. You just close your eyes at night and pretend to sleep. All so that no one sees the world crumble around you. You are losing your grip. You are frail, Old Man. The times have changed.

This used to be a town of law and order, but you forget that I was the law. And now that I'm the master of this new order, I claim to rest in peace at last.

I was a single man, not bound by anything or anyone. Unlike you. And I will use it against you. When I died, you couldn't get over me quickly enough. You literally stepped over my dead body and shook the hands of the man with the gun, both of his hands with both of yours, before the smoke even stopped seeping from the barrel. And now I think you deserve to meet his victims. I wasn't the first, but I surely wasn't the last. It is all on you.

There is something I have to agree with you about. You made this town what it is today. I would not be proud of myself if I were you. But the good thing is, that I am not you. I got over my flaw, right before I died. I saw it all, that moment. I am free of those morals now, Old Man. Now it does not matter to me, if it is right what I will do.

And now, Mister Mayor, you will face the music one more time. That's probably what will haunt you most, when you stand out there and watch the crowd, swaying on the bones of the past. I know you're old now and you think you are forgiven, but none of us forgot. Least of all, me.

The gold is gone. The rush is over. But, dear Mister Mayor, the ghosts are all still here, and I am waking them up, one by one by one, as soon as the good old music fills this town again. I am out to wake them. I will do my job. I am the law here and we have now sentenced you to join us, Mister Mayor. Tonight.

by Joya Finch

October 2026