Western…in modern times.
“Hello, I saw your ad on the message board? ‘Have BFG, will travel?’ That’s you, right?”
“That’s the part everyone focuses on, yes.”
“You do have the gun, right?”
“In game? Yes…but I prefer not to use it.”
“But you will use it, right?”
“I will. If the situation calls for it.”
“You’re gonna need it. I’ll just tell you right now, you’re going to need it.”
“Miss, can you tell me what the trouble is?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. See, it’s about my brother. I think he’s fallen in with goldfarmers….”
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New from the Murverse- ISBW Special #46 – Stonecoast Writer’s Residency January 31, 2012
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- Short Story Alert- Gimme Shelter January 27, 2012
The creak-wheeled wagon rolled into town leaning heavily to one side and smelling of dust and gun oil. The horse plodded ahead slowly, as if he knew where he was heading, which was odd; the driver was conspicuously absent.
Heads turned to watch the wagons passing. A boy, barefoot and filthy, ran out, looked into the driver’s seat, then ran away as if the devil had bit him, his face white.
The wagon pulled to a halt, and Sheriff Bony Ridge stepped away from the front of the saloon. Bony hitched his britches over too-thin hips, settled his guns, and strode across the street to the wagon. His heart raced, but he didn’t let the fear show. You could never let the fear show when you were the law.
The wagon creaked, and Bony jerked. Then, angry at himself, he hurried his last few steps and peered down into the wagon.
The tiny twin barrels of miniature six-guns pointed straight between his eyes, which went wide.
“I’ll be goin’ to hell in a coal bucket,” he said softly…Shorty McGraw.”
The tiny cowboy hopped to the seat and fired. The sheriff hit the ground hard. People turned and ran in all directions, followed by the shrill echo of tinny laughter.