Morgan // floweringgravetender
The sun hung low as a drifter walked into a backwater town with no name. Walking down the street you could hear his spurs jingle in the breeze. Bessie strolled by his side, her reins in his hands. The towns folk could be seen retreating into their homes or their shops. The drifter didn’t question why they ran, he had no reason to. Tying Bessie to the post outfront, the drifter strode into the saloon. The door swung open, squealing like it hadn’t been oiled in years. His spurs continued to jingle as he walked into the bar. The customers now had every eye positioned on the man who’d never been here before. Walking up to the bar, the man opened his mouth to speak before being interrupted.
“Well I’ll be damned,” a scruffy voice spoke, “How long hasss it been?” she asked walking up to the drifter
“Do you have to pop up everywhere I go?” the drifter said, his voice hoarse but gentle.
“Asss a matter of fact I do,” she said snidely, “We have some unfinished businesss.” she said with a hiss.
Her head wound around the man’s shoulders. “Can I at least get a drink first?” the drifter said, gesturing to the bartender.
After a moment the drifter was handed his drink. Before he could even raise the glass to his lips a shot rang out blowing the glass out of his hand.
“I never sssaid you could do that. '' The snake said, beginning to rattle her tail as she hissed at the man. “We’ve got businesss Morgan, you can have your drink after.”
The horse stood up, his chair screeching across the old floor. The snake walked toward the door, before she left she flicked her tail toward Morgan. Suddenly a group of men jumped toward him. There was a struggle, lots of yelling and screaming. Morgan could be heard yelling beneath the dogpile though it was difficult to understand him. One man threw a punch but pulled his hand back, screaming bloody mary over his lost finger. Another tried to get his gun into the fray but he couldn’t find an angle. Then 5 shots rang out. 5 bodies fell to the ground. Morgan climbed to his feet and rubbed the blood off his mane. He was upset at losing his drink, now he was pissed. “I’ll be back in a moment,” the man said to the barkeep who was peeking up from his hiding spot behind the bar.
“Alright bitch,” Morgan said with a sign, “I’m here, let's get this over with,” he said, reading his hand over his holster “for once and for all.”
“That’sss the Morgan I’ve been waiting for,” she said with malice. “I misssed the old you, I can almossst taste the fear on these folksss facesss.”
“We draw at the strike of the clock, not a second early or I will put you down if it's the last thing I do.” Morgan said, widening his stance.
“With what? You only have one bullet dear.” the snake said, holding her gun on the tip of her finger.
Morgan pulled his pistol from his pocket and checked the cylinder. One more bullet. He took a deep breath. It was all he needed to get rid of her. The two stood on different ends of the block from each other. A scoundrel with a life of deceit and lies under belt. And a drifter, who left his life of crime behind to live by his own rules. His eyes narrowed as the sun lowered further into the sky. A tumbleweed rolled between the two gunslingers. A sign creaked as it swung outside of a general store. The sky was a bright purple with streaks of orange and red. These two had been like this before. Around a year ago the two were in a similar situation. Morgan again strode into another small town, she approached him in much the same way. However this time she had a proposition. He could either turn back to his old life and run off with her to continue their spree of murder and thievery, or he could die where he stood. He took the latter. In the end he knocked the top off her rattle and left. Neither of them wanted to be here, repeating the same events again. But it was what needed to happen.
The clock struck 8pm. Without hesitation two shots rang out. All but the few spectators who had hid from the scene were coming back to see the aftermath. Three people laid on the ground. Morgan, the woman, and another man behind Morgan. After a moment, Morgan tried to stand up before crying in pain. He had been shot in the arm. Looking down the street he could see the woman had been killed. A clean hole went through her chest. Her body lay motionless in the waning light of dusk. Morgan looked behind him to see a man holding his neck while laying a pool of blood. When Morgan moved to get out of harm's way the round that went through his arm must have nailed the man in the throat. It must have been a set up, either way Morgan was dying.
Wincing in pain Morgan tied a rag around his arm to quell the bleeding. Investigating further He saw the man behind him was still alive, but barely. Picking up his six shooter Morgan walked up to the man and aimed at his head. The man on the floor pleaded for mercy, though he was unable to speak, drowning in his own blood. Morgan then popped the cylinder out of his pistol before revealing he had shot every round. He closed his revolver and walked away, leaving the man to gargle himself to death.
Before leaving, Morgan walked into the bar. He asked the barkeep for a bottle of whiskey. Handing the keep more money than needed and taking his bottle the man moved out to his steed. As immoral as it may seem, a man has to use whatever he can to move around this wasteland. He took Bessie by the reins and walked her to the woman's corpse. Looking over her, he could almost take pity on her. They used to work together in the past, did a few heists, and killed a few people who they shouldn’t have. It was a great time. But that time had passed. He crouched down and grabbed her gun and wallet then saddled his mount and made his way out of that town, leaving the locals to clean up the mess.