With my back to the steel slabs, I resisted the urge to count the bullets left in my gun. Judging from the force of the blows on the barricaded door, it wasn’t anywhere near enough.
I resigned myself: A morgue was as appropriate of a place to die as any.
A graduate of the Master of Professional Writing program at the University of Southern California, Chad Greene experiments with Twitter fiction at @TheShortCourse.
Hot metal ripped through warm flesh and I shuddered and sank to the ground. Her beautiful steely blue eyes stared mockingly at me.
“That’s your last shot!” I warned.
She smiled and blew me a kiss with those sultry red lips of hers and said, “No sweetie, the last straw.”
Connell Wayne Regner was inspired by Chris Griglack’s “femme fatale” in Love At Last SIght. His other dabblings can be found at paragraphplanet and wtdmagazine.wordpress.com.
The hare pulled back on the cigar, slipped the gun back into its side holster, and smiled down at the gunfighter, who was pressing a bloodied hand against the wound in his belly.
“You can’t ever pull faster than me.” It said and turned away from the dying man’s curses.
Gerard Mulligan has been published on various online sources.
Noon: the sun stood still overhead.
A man in a black hat faced a man in a brown hat.
“Take ten paces!” cried the sheriff.
One, two, three, four—BANG!
Brown hat fell. Blood pooled in the dust; black hat smirked.
BANG!
Black hat fell. “Filthy cheater,” said the sheriff.