Also posted on http://www.BestTalesEver.com
This week, I am posting a short story called “Sharpshooter” I wrote few years back for one of my college elective classes (Creative Writing). Growing up, I became a big fan of western cowboy movies. One of the most famous and dangerous cowboys was named Billy the Kid. He was one of the most wanted outlaws in USA in mid-1800s. A lot of what he did was both legendary and shrouded in myths. I decided to extend on those myths using my imagination to write a story.
This is different than what I normally blog about, and there are some grammar mistakes. I would make some changes if I were to rewrite it, but I want to keep it intact exactly as I wrote it without any editing. I hope you enjoy it.
The Sharpshooter
Billy walked into a saloon in 1870’s Tombstone, Arizona. He was an arrogant guy in his early 20’s with ripped muscles bulging out and a few cuts on his forehead and cheeks from his many fights throughout the different towns. Billy was an absolutely badass mercenary that women were crazy about and men feared. Bounty-hunting was one of the things he did on the side to make extra money; he often challenged other gunslingers to 1-on-1 duels just for the thrill of killing others in cold blood. He was the type of tough guy that often put terror into the eyes of his opponents; he was somebody that you would not want to go against in a battle. Unfortunately, not many understood that until after they were shot in the face by his custom Smith&Wesson .38 revolvers.
“Hey garcon, I want a couple fucking glasses of cold rum at this second,” bellowed Billy across the saloon as soon as he walked in. Everyone in the saloon turned around to check out the new figure. They noticed the new figure with the loud booming voice walk directly to the center of the large room while looking around as if he owned the place before making his way to the bar where the actual drinks were served.
“What the hell are you looking at, asshole?” barked Billy at a man sitting back relaxing next to the bar table. He was staring at Billy out of the side of his eyes with a smirk on his face. He suddenly realized who Billy was.
“I know you. Weren’t you involved in that bank-robbery and that shootout with the sheriff’s department just last week inside Dodge City? You killed the sheriff before making a run for it without the money.”
“Hey asshole, shut the hell up. If you have a problem with me, we will handle it right here right now like men,” Billy paused when he saw the bartender come rushing up from the store-room.
“Please take this outside. I don’t want no trouble here, folks,” blabbed the older bartender. He was in his early 60’s with droopy skin around the neck area and white long hair covering his entire scalp. He had been the owner of the saloon for over 40 years, passed down from his grandfather. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a fight inside his own saloon, which he knew was going to be the end result based on the tones being used by the two men. He also recognized Billy from the many WANTED posters that were posted around the town; the border town of Dodge City had set a reward of $5000 for the capture (dead or alive) of the man known as Billy the Kid.
“You and your few buddies tried to take the money of the people. How dare you have the guts to come here after that? I know you have a big bounty on your head. By the way, how did the robbery go?”
Billy lunged at the unknown man across the tables for taking a shot at his manhood for the failed robbery. In that same instance, everyone else in the saloon quickly backed away from the dangerous man. Billy had a knack for getting into fights with people he met to satisfy his ego, and he would often challenge authority just to show his hate for others more powerful than him. Other guys sensed his defiance as well just from the way Billy talked and acted. He never seemed to be able to change those ways of his.
“GENTLEMEN, PLEASE. I AM BEGGING YOU. PLEASE.”
The two men fought on the tables, throwing rum and beer bottles everywhere inside the saloon. Punches were exchanged back and forth. Blood and tears were bled and spilt. The men refused to stop as the old man continued to scream at the top of his lungs to somehow try to break up the fight. He was in no position financially to have all of the broken furniture replaced.
For about 10 minutes straight, the scuffle continued. The old man heard bones crackling, the sound of flesh being crushed by punches and blood squirting all over the floor and tables. Finally, the men became exhausted to the point of collapsing; nobody was going to come to the rescue of the old man or Billy or the unknown man.
The old man decided to take matters into his own hands: he quickly picked up the pistols of the two men and threw them outside the saloon in the middle of the street. He knew that the fight was going to eventually end up into a pistol shootout as soon as one of them got their hands onto their weapons.
Before he knew it, the two men slowly crawled outside towards their pistols for a 1-on-1 duel in the middle of the street with each man taking up position across each other. The spectators were gathering at a distance to watch the duel. It even piqued the interest of the exhausted bartender himself; he slowly walked up to the wide saloon window to see the fight for himself. Throughout his sixty years of living in Tombstone, he had seen many duels, but for some reason there was something different about this one.
The two men had something about them that made the duel intriguing even before it started. Although both of them were badly injured, the unknown man was willing to do whatever he could to get his hands onto the bounty. He would receive enough money to buy himself a nice house and also to pay off whatever debts he had. The old man saw that Billy was somehow able to walk freely even with multiple ribs broken and a possible broken nose. The two moved about 50 yards apart before taking up their positions across each other.
To the old bartender, it sounded like the two agreed to have a random person from the crowd act as a judge of sorts to create the signal for the duel to commence. The signal was going to be given through the dropping of a bandanna that was provided by one of the combatants. As soon as the bandanna hit the ground, the fight was on.
The old bartender noticed the crimson bandanna thrown into the air. Both duelists had their hands on their pistols ready to draw as soon as the bandanna hit the ground. Seconds felt like hours as it slowly made its way to the ground. This is it, the bartender thought to himself.
Both men drew their pistols out in the blink of an eye. The bartender realized right away that Billy was not the quickest at drawing his pistol, definitely not in this fight. Fortunately, the man opposite him made a slight mistake while in the process of aiming: he miscalculated the angle based on the distance by a couple degrees. Two bullets whizzed past Billy’s forehead as a drop of sweat trickled down his forehead. The third bullet punctured a hole straight through Billy’s thigh. In that same instance, Billy had fired off multiple bullets from his revolver. First bullet ripped through his opponent’s skull while the other couple bullets tore apart his rib-cage and pelvic region. The unknown man was dead long before his body landed.
“My lord,” exclaimed the excited bartender with large shocked eyes and a hand on his chest as he felt the pain himself.
Billy slowly stumbled his way back into the saloon puking up blood before he fell onto his knees in front of the old man, heaving for oxygen. He slowly crawled sideways on his knees towards a table before pulling himself up one inch at a time to sit atop the nearby chair.
“Get.. me. sum.. whisky.. old man.”
Hope. Inspire. Dream. Live.
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