The Gunslinger

The Gunslinger
(word count 300)

They waited for him in silence.

At half past noon, he rode his horse into town. His six-shooters caused fear amongst those in hiding.

He knew they were there waiting for him. They were always there. Sometimes it was one, other times a dozen, but they were always there.

Dismounting in front of the saloon, he paused to take in the surrounding buildings. He'd counted five of them. There was one at the second floor window across the street; another just around the corner from the barber shop. A third and forth peered from the stable loft two buildings down. Without looking, he knew the last one was on top of the saloon. There was always one up there. Must be the lure of the ladder attached to outside of the structure.

'Might just as well get this over with,' he thought to himself.

Drawing his guns in a blur, he fired three rounds into the second floor window. The shots sounded as one. A body slumped through the curtain.

Stepping forward and turning, he fired twice into the man over the saloon.

Walking and shooting, he coolly closed the distance between himself and the stables. Bullets bit the ground nearby; still others whistled past. He never slowed. The sudden silence told him he had killed again.

The man by the barber shop turned and fled.
'Let him go,' he told himself.

'I can't," came the reply.

He shot the man in the back. A tomato-red blossom erupted from the dead man's chest.

They had just been trying to protect their town. The grief he caused became his burden to carry forever.

This was his sentence. This was his hell. It would never end.

At half past noon, he rode into town. There were three of them waiting this time...