Flint

The hammer clicked. I glanced at my revolver and cursed under my breath, I was out of ammo. I slid back down behind the bar, my arm was losing a lot of blood, it was starting to go numb now. Three law men lay dead in front of the door, all shot down by the old pistol in my hand. Bullet holes decorated the bar and the rest of the Tom’s men waited outside for me. He stood outside the door, black trench coat and black hat. I had no way out this time. 

“C’mon out Bill, it’s all over now!” Tom shouted.  It was hard to understand what he was saying due to the excessive amount of chewing tobacco he had in his mouth. His gold teeth gleamed in the desert sun and his black mustache was soaked with rum. I sat silently, thinking of a clever remark to shoot back at Tom, but I had nothing. I looked down at my bloody arm, the once tanned sleeve was now dark maroon. I found it harder to breath now and my shoulders were getting heavy. Tom spit and coughed loudly, “I know yer’ out a’ bullets there Bill, jest c’mon out n’ get whats coming to ya”. Tom’s crew started to chuckle at his words, their shrill laughs echoed through the old bar. I began to grow frustrated with myself, I couldn’t win this fight, or get out of here alive.  “I can’t believe you would bail out on us Bill, I thought you were a man of yer’ word.” Tom laughed and fired a couple of shots toward the bar, hitting the bottles above the counter. I smiled as the glass rained down on me. 

I quickly popped my head up after the shots and answered, “I am a man of my word Tom, you didn’t hold out on the end of your deal.” I shifted my stance so the men could hear me better. “Your a liar Tom,” I laughed loudly, “Your a liar and a coward.” I fell back down to cover, “And all you out there listening to this idiot are fools.” I grew quite for a moment and whispered, “Fools,” It finally sank in, I stared blankly at my dirty hands and then my pistol. My hands were pretty beat up from past months of work and abuse. The pistol was rusted, dents and notches ran along the barrel and grip. I took a deep breath and dropped my pistol beside me, letting my arms fall with it, I could feel tiny bits of dirt crunch between my teeth. 

Tom was red now, his crew sat silently, waiting for their leader to blow up from frustration. Tom brushed his mustache with his fingers and smiled.

“Your a cocky little s**t you know that Bill,” he screamed, his hands shaking with rage. 

“Yeah I get that a lot.” I answered. Tom tried hard to hide his anger, face covered in sweat. He then turned to his men and pointed into the bar, and with a very calm tone,

“Kill him and bring him to me please.” The men shifted and started firing through the windows. I didn’t move, the shots were loud and hurt my ears but I didn’t move. Out manned and out gunned, my mind raced.

Reviews

[Claire]

Your title was very well chosen. The whole time I read this piece I was focused on the gun, whether it was the gun itself or gun shots or men wounded by guns. It seemed to me that it affected every interaction and emotion of this piece. I think you made that happen through the richness of your sensory descriptions. I can't explain my experience while reading this piece better than it felt as if I was biting a bullet myself while I read it. Good show.

[Christopher Darnell]

Ugh Thank you sooo much!!! (: Please continue to read and critique my work! You are so very helpful!!! (: