The man walked into the saloon. His spurs jingling as he walked through the swinging doors. His white hat covered most of his blue-black hair. His tall muscular frame stood, taking in the sounds and the smells of the saloon – the piano; the laughing; the yelling; the smell of beer, cheap cologne, and sweat. He proceeded to the bar and ordered his usual. The bartender smiled with his rotten, wooden teeth and headed to the back to fix the special orders. These would take awhile as they never had freshly brewed beer ready. The man, whom we shall call Simon, walked over to the pianist and asked for a fast song. He flipped a quarter into the air which landed into the tips jar and the pianist started playing. Simon immediately recognized his favorite tune – The Entertainer by Joplin. Smiling, he made his way back to the bar. His drink was still not ready. No matter, he had time. In fact, he had plenty of time. Nothing ever went on in the little patch of nowhere known as Williams, Arizona. He walked over to a table and sat down next to a couple of his friends. Leaning back in his chair, he lowered his hat in front of his face and tried to rest as his friends yelled and laughed. While having nothing to do was nice, it became tedious and boring after awhile. What he really wanted was something fun; something exciting. This was his wish each day. Secretly, he wished one of the many wanted outlaws would stop by the ‘quaint little town’, as he put it. His fantasy was to be a hero and fight bad guys; however, he knew that would never happen in the little town of Williams. Today, he felt, would be different. He felt something would change his humdrum routine in his humdrum life. He was right.
El Carcinero, or “The Butcher” was a rough, hispanic man. His list of... “accomplishments” was long. He had robbed hundreds of towns, single-handedly; taken down the finest sheriffs; his list was long. He was a cruel and inhumane man. He would slaughter people for his own enjoyment. He said he had reasons though. “Justice,” he would say, “is nothing but a mere illusion. It is objective; what you may see as justice, I see as corruption. I don’t need your justice.” He smiled as he walked into the layed-back town of Williams, Arizona. He thought– nay, he knew it would be an easy job. The town had virtually no law, not that it had any reason for it. There were never any problems there.
Simon had fallen asleep in his chair, when El Carcinero walked into the saloon. He had a .45 in a holster in clear view and his knife in his pocket. The pianist stopped and everyone stared at him. His hand hovered over his gun as he walked up to the bartender. It was clear everyone knew who he was as their eyes stayed fixed upon him. He stole a beer from the man sitting at next to him at the bar and took a drink. He swished it around in his mouth and spit it back at the bartender, cursing at him. This wasn’t usually something you heard in Williams. Everyone was gentle and peaceful, but this through a pebble into the pond. The man’s voice woke Simon up. Inquisitively, he looked around for the voice that had disturbed him. Simon instantly knew who this man was – The Butcher. Simon stood up and stared at the criminal, “What gives you the right to come in here and–” The Butcher cut him off, “What gives me the right? Se?or, do you know who I am? I am the man that is going to burn your town down. That is, after I take what I want.” Aghast, Simon weighed his options. He could either run, along with everyone else, or stay and fight. He chose the latter. Not out of pride or longing for the thrill, but because he knew he was the only one that would.
“Let’s have a little duel, ‘Se?or’,” said Simon, mocking the man’s accent. As he began to explain the rules, the hispanic cut him off, “I know the rules, gringo.” They stepped outside and stood back to back. The two had agreed on ten paces. “I hope you know, I have played this game at least once in every town I have raided. Never have I lost. There is no need for me to cheat.” Simon gulped as they started pacing. 1 “Take a breath,” Simon thought to himself. 2 “Don’t hesitate.” 3 “Clear my head.” 4 “Don’t miss.” 5 “Shoot to kill.” 6 “Be fast.” 7 “Lightning Fast.” 8 “Don’t miss.” 9 “Hand’s on my gun.” 10 There was a loud bang followed by the smell of gun smoke. Simon checked himself and found that he had made it unscathed. He looked at his smoking gun, then at The Butcher. He stood there with a smug smile on his face. “There’s a first time for everything...” he said as he fell, face first into the dirt. No one moved. The only thing heard was the sound of silence. The expressions on peoples’ faces spoke volumes. They spoke without speaking. Hearing, without listening. No one dared to speak. Finally, Simon broke the silence, “Bartender, I never got my drink.”
-------------------------------------------
Just a little thought that popped into my head. Thought I'd give you guys a little insight into what I've actually been doing lately. Been writing slightly more serious stuff. Not meant to be offensive. Take in mind the time period that this would be in. I know it's kind of poor quality because it just popped into my head. I've been trying Poe's ideas on short stories – that they should be short and able to read in one sitting. I know the ending was kind of clich?, but I was aiming for that.
El Carcinero, or “The Butcher” was a rough, hispanic man. His list of... “accomplishments” was long. He had robbed hundreds of towns, single-handedly; taken down the finest sheriffs; his list was long. He was a cruel and inhumane man. He would slaughter people for his own enjoyment. He said he had reasons though. “Justice,” he would say, “is nothing but a mere illusion. It is objective; what you may see as justice, I see as corruption. I don’t need your justice.” He smiled as he walked into the layed-back town of Williams, Arizona. He thought– nay, he knew it would be an easy job. The town had virtually no law, not that it had any reason for it. There were never any problems there.
Simon had fallen asleep in his chair, when El Carcinero walked into the saloon. He had a .45 in a holster in clear view and his knife in his pocket. The pianist stopped and everyone stared at him. His hand hovered over his gun as he walked up to the bartender. It was clear everyone knew who he was as their eyes stayed fixed upon him. He stole a beer from the man sitting at next to him at the bar and took a drink. He swished it around in his mouth and spit it back at the bartender, cursing at him. This wasn’t usually something you heard in Williams. Everyone was gentle and peaceful, but this through a pebble into the pond. The man’s voice woke Simon up. Inquisitively, he looked around for the voice that had disturbed him. Simon instantly knew who this man was – The Butcher. Simon stood up and stared at the criminal, “What gives you the right to come in here and–” The Butcher cut him off, “What gives me the right? Se?or, do you know who I am? I am the man that is going to burn your town down. That is, after I take what I want.” Aghast, Simon weighed his options. He could either run, along with everyone else, or stay and fight. He chose the latter. Not out of pride or longing for the thrill, but because he knew he was the only one that would.
“Let’s have a little duel, ‘Se?or’,” said Simon, mocking the man’s accent. As he began to explain the rules, the hispanic cut him off, “I know the rules, gringo.” They stepped outside and stood back to back. The two had agreed on ten paces. “I hope you know, I have played this game at least once in every town I have raided. Never have I lost. There is no need for me to cheat.” Simon gulped as they started pacing. 1 “Take a breath,” Simon thought to himself. 2 “Don’t hesitate.” 3 “Clear my head.” 4 “Don’t miss.” 5 “Shoot to kill.” 6 “Be fast.” 7 “Lightning Fast.” 8 “Don’t miss.” 9 “Hand’s on my gun.” 10 There was a loud bang followed by the smell of gun smoke. Simon checked himself and found that he had made it unscathed. He looked at his smoking gun, then at The Butcher. He stood there with a smug smile on his face. “There’s a first time for everything...” he said as he fell, face first into the dirt. No one moved. The only thing heard was the sound of silence. The expressions on peoples’ faces spoke volumes. They spoke without speaking. Hearing, without listening. No one dared to speak. Finally, Simon broke the silence, “Bartender, I never got my drink.”
-------------------------------------------
Just a little thought that popped into my head. Thought I'd give you guys a little insight into what I've actually been doing lately. Been writing slightly more serious stuff. Not meant to be offensive. Take in mind the time period that this would be in. I know it's kind of poor quality because it just popped into my head. I've been trying Poe's ideas on short stories – that they should be short and able to read in one sitting. I know the ending was kind of clich?, but I was aiming for that.
Last edited:
![[Nook]](/data/avatars/m/1/1990.jpg?1585850325){kind=avatar}
