The Town

You decide what it means.

          The street was dark with the setting sun bleeding out onto the road.  Empty stores creaked and wind whispered among the abandoned lots.  A lone light shone out of a window, but nobody was to be found.  The desolate town had once been bustling and busy, but now it was hollow and vacant.  The last, lone man of the town stood in the middle of the street, the sun plastering his shadow behind him.  He was a rugged, cold-hearted man who was similar to the town in the sense that he, too, was alone and abandoned. 

          The van was silent except for the sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd wailing from the damaged speakers. Ian sat hunched over, thinking. This was his first job with the men in the black suits, and he was nervous. Each man in the posse sat with their suits recently ironed and their pistols recently cleaned. One thing for sure, was that the old man they were hunting was on all of their minds.

The old man sauntered through the street quietly whistling to himself.  It was the only thing that you could hear for miles, if there was anyone to listen. It was the tune of melancholy memories that had existed at a previous time, but now they were no more.  The memories consisted of joy and excitement and wonderful times, when children and animals and humans lived and interacted with each other in the now deserted streets.  After the nostalgic old man finished his memory tour through the town, he came to the building with the light.  With a miniscule pause and a glance, he trudged up the creaking stairs. 

          Ian felt the vibrations cease and the van brake. He slid the door open and clambered out. He saw the old man’s horse. He knew that his hard work had finally paid off. Ian and the posse got ready to finish the job.

When the old man arrived at the room on the second floor, he stumbled toward the desk by the window.  He gazed out at the lonely town, and then looked down at the desk.  On the desk was a picture of all the towns’ people together. The old man smiled and whispered one thing.  “Now we’re home together.”  A tear trickled down his face. Then his face hardened and he glanced up.  Gone were all the memories and all that remained were his cold empty eyes.  As he watched out the window, men in black suits with sleek, black pistols streamed into the town. His town. The old man turned grabbed his pistol, holstered it, and straightened up.  “Now, let’s get outta this town,” he rasped.

          Ian quietly crept up by the hitching post. The old man strolled out the shop door as if he didn’t have a care in the world.  His head down, his arms hanging at his side, he stood relaxed while Ian’s boss strutted forward. Ian’s boss shoved the old man and jeered at him, and he even went as far as tipping the old man’s dusty hat off, revealing a fuzzy beard and the creased, tell-tale lines of old age.  Ian’s boss reached for his handcuffs, through with the harassment of the old man.  Then the old man moved.       

          The old man grabbed the boss’s arm and threw him over his shoulder while simultaneously grabbing his pistol and shooting the boss in the foot. Everything was still, everyone was silent.

          The old man smiled, retrieved his hat and began to walk forward.  Nobody approached him or attacked him. One person attempted to, but was swiftly shot in the shoulder. It was plain to see that the old man was toying with them- not shooting to kill.  Ian watched in disbelief as the old man got on a horse and began to trot away.

          The old man sat, nonchalantly twiddling his thumbs.  He did not see the boss man in the black suit get up. He did not see him grab a rifle. He did not see him c**k the gun and aim. He did, however, hear the blast of a gun.  He did, however, feel the impact of the bullet that was sent through his back and out the front of his chest.  He did, however feel. His. Heart. Stop.

          Ian watched as the horse halted and the old man tumbled to the ground. Everyone gave a cheer, but Ian himself was slightly disgusted. They say that you get used to the death in this profession, Ian thought, but he wasn’t so sure. No matter how hard he tried, Ian couldn’t shake the fact that he wished the old man was still alive.

          The old man was dazed. He felt the hard ground beneath his fingertips, he heard the horse above him whinny, and he could see the bullet that had just traveled through him. Then the old man stood.

          Ian’s mouth dropped. His boss and the posse stopped celebrating.  They, too, saw the grisly old man struggling as he remounted his horse.  To their amazement, the old man flicked the reins and continued to ride.  As the posse opened fire on the old man there was merely a small shrug and shudder from him.

          It was truly a beautiful picture- An old man riding on a horse into the sunset. It was almost the perfect image of contentment.

Author's Note

UPDATED!