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Rated: 13+ · Sample · Western · #2238739
2 men struggle to face their demons when their morals are tested in this Spaghetti Western
The cigarette quickly morphed into a skinny stub and Red flicked it into the dry dirt. He lowered his hat down on top of his eyes and pulled a green poncho tight, slowly drifting into a deep sleep.

Crunch, Crunch -Snikt- .Thud.

Red’s eyes peered open. He looked around. His dyning fire’s flame admitted a dim glow on the surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the usual. He closed his eyes again.


Red’s eyes jumped open. He fixed his hat. He looked through the fire again. Something glissend that blinded Red. He threw the poncho on the ground and inched toward the object. It was a bottle. Red further examined it. Hair tonic. He then looked down the tiny slope of the small hill he rested upon. The moon's white light showed an odd object at the bottom. Red looked over his shoulder as if something was there. He fastened his gun belt and walked toward the weird thing.
Crunch, crunch, crunch- His feet sang.
The thing began to take shape. It looked like some kind of strange animal. Red continued on. Suddenly a tail coat took shape. Then legs. Then arms. And finally a half bald head.
The object was a man slumped over to where his back faced Red’s camp. The stranger was twitching. Red got closer.
“He- Hello?” Red shakenly asked. He touched his shoulder. The stranger looked over and eyes widened. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. The stranger’s face then became stern and worried like and he grabbed onto his neck. Blood seeped through his finger tips, reaching and hiding into any crevice it could snuggle into. A large cold shiver ran through Red’s back. He ran back to camp to grab his poncho to help the stranger. It was far too late by the time Red arrived back at the scene, but the man still had life left in him. He reached and grabbed Red’s pant leg. He looked up. A tale of horror and fear shone in his eyes. The man could not speak but Red understood everything he conveyed. Trouble was nearby. The grip slowly and slowly loosened and the man's stare became more and more vacant. He finally died and spread out. Red glanced back at the lifeless body. Horror followed suit as he spotted a shiny metal badge on the stranger’s peck. He quickly ran back up the hill to find his horse and escape, but he was far too late. He reached the top and found a dirty pistol aimed for his face. His hands quickly shot up. The man with the firearm was dark. He carried a barrage of weapons and a large scar was magnified through his long greasy hair on his chest.
“Best you don’t try anything funny, friend. Unless you want to end up like that dead marshall there.” The man motioned toward the body.
“What do you wa…”
- Thwap -
Red was attacked with the butt of the man’s gun. Knocking him unconscious and sending him rolling down the hill. “Too many questions. I don’t need questions right now.” The man stressed.
The outlaw quickly scampered through the place. Stealing all of Red’s goods, except the tobacco. Food, poncho, cantine, and rifle all gone. Leaving Red with his pistol, hat, cloths, and horse.
The man took one last glimpse at the scene he had manifested. A string of guilt lay upon him as he made a hasty escape into the wild. Disappearing into the early morning sun.

The cold western rain bathed Red in the empty field. Buzzz - Smack. Red smacked a fly off his face as he slowly awoke. He put his hands up as if covering the hard drops that attacked his morning eyes. But by this time morning was long gone. It was already mid afternoon. Red stumbled to his feet, fixing his dirty hat along the way.
“What is that darned smell?” He looked beside him. A rotting marshal corpse lay, decomposing in the mud. Dried blood stained his coat and the dead grass beneath him. Flies had already been laying eggs inside his dead body, and slowly decomposing him into the soil.
“No, no. This can’t be happening!” Red ran back up the hill to find nothing but his horse and a dead fire. He searched around hoping of finding anything, but no, it was all gone. “Shit, shit, no!.” He fumbled inside the saddle bags. Lint being the only thing he found. He mounted on his horse and took a final look down at the marshal. A long hard stare. He fixed his hat. This wasn’t the first time he’s witnessed death, nor will it be the last. “Yaw, let's ge…”
“You there, stranger!” a voice boomed from behind. Red screeched to a quick stop.
“Me?” Red looked over. A posse of Intimidating armed gentlemen on horseback stood in the empty land. The man with the bushy mustache from the bar was speaking.
“We’s hopin’ you could lend us a hand in findin’ a group that went missing a few days ago.”
“Yeah well, well that’s unfortunate.” Red wiped sweat from his brow.
“Why are you skimpish, friend?” The sheriff croaked. “You hidin’ anything?”
“No, but I- I just, uh..”
“You just what son!?”
“Last night, I hear something- and I just, I got up and..”
“Spit it out boy! I don’t got all day!”
“Sheriff!” Everyone looked over. A man that came from the side of the hill called.
“It’s Milton sir! I found Milton, he’s dead!”
All eyes turned toward Red.
Click the sheriff cocked his revolver back and aimed, “You hidin’ something boy?”
“No, like I was sayin’...”
“Tie him up.”
Two men got down from their horses and motioned toward red with a hefty rope.
“Look men, you gotta believe me…”
“We can take the easy route, or the hard route boy.” The sheriff proclaimed, still aiming at Red.
Red jumped down from his horse with his hands up. “I didn’t do nothing, what's with the hostility?” He slowly inched backward.
“We don’t take to kindly to criminals in this county.” A deputy took red’s pistol and threw the rope catching Red by the feet and knocking him to his back. He then went and tied the end to the horn on his saddle. Another deputy tied up Red’s horse and led it.
“C’mon now sheriff.” Red’s face began to look tense and yellow. “Really? This just isn’t right.”
“Let’s go boys!” The deputies mounted on their horses and headed off toward Lisa, rag dolling Red’s body on the ground along the ground. His back scabbing against the slippery rocks. He held onto his hat and suffered the whole way.
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