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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun

Episdode 17

Katee frantically the ejected the spent cartridges from the old Navy revolver, the empty shells clattering across the floor. She bent over Deke's mangled body and undid his gunbelt, wincing at the torn remains of her old customer. After finally freeing the belt she loaded the new cartridges into the pistol and and cinched the belt tight around her waste

Barry stood behind the bar still reloading Booth's old Winchester. Tom Boon, her last client, took another long pull from the bottle of whisky he had grabbed. He was still in his long shorts, his pants and shirt still in her room. He had taken the the time to put on his gunbelt, but the leather still had it's shine on it and she wasn't sure he had ever fired it. Tom had claimed he was here to bid on some mining rights, but he so far had spent the last 5 days drinking and whoring.

Barry propped the Winchester on the bar and wiped the sweat from his brow. He'd been drinking all night and looked worse for wear. Katee rested the pistol on the table and snugged in her knife. She kept for those times customers got to rough and knew how to use it. She felt a little better knowing it was strapped to her back.

Katee looked through the window, and though the shades had been pulled she could still she the shadows of the creatures moving outside. Root was supposed to be back from the Sheriff's office already. She picked the pistol back up when she heard Billy call from upstairs.

" Root's on the move!"

End of Line.

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