Coming Soon...

Take Your Shot.

My given name is Charlie Emerson Jr.  

That is, before the name Hollow was hung on me.  

It’s a story I don't much like telling, not that I've often got anyone to tell stories to.  I live in a graveyard called Progress Township in the dead center of a wasteland called Nevada.  This is the kind of place that people come after crossing a line they can’t retreat to.  Each of them then seems to bring that trouble to my door.  I haven't had a lot of luck knowing people in this town.  I'm truthfully better at killing people than knowing them.  I stand at the edge of every happy room and over the man that crossed me at the end of every fight, when the same rooms turn cross.

Every sinner before me says there's a seat waiting for me in Hell, not for the wrath of my rifle, but for the little humanity I've got to offer Heaven.  There are only a damned few truths worth counting on in this withered old west, but for the knowledge that the sinner or saint that falls under the view of my rifle, from ten paces or as far as my bullet will travel, falls dead soon after and there's as much good denying it as there is waiting on a fair life.  I don't expect they keep a set of seraphim wings aside for one with a calling like mine, but I don't expect if they did I'd much like the company.  If I'm bound for hell I’ll take my rifle with me.

They drew lines around this hole in our country and named it a state on the day I was born, but our federal government gives us less thought than the Indian folk they have herded between here and Texas.  Personally, I enjoy the value of being overlooked.  It gives me occasion to observe, to see what most chose to overlook.

On most days I am the postman of this territory, a cripple limping on a false right leg down a dusty road consumed by my famous father's lawman shadow.  On some nights I am drawn into using my rifle for more than a counterbalance over my shoulder, to hide my crooked walk, and to carve a different balance out of the dirt, blood, and shit of the end of this century.

On nights like these I am the shadow myself.

Stay Tuned for... Hollow Hell Bent