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tamingthemuse2009-10-31 11:15 pm
wordwhacker.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2009-10-31 11:15 pm
Entry tags:
Prompt #171 - Bastard - The Point - Cass (wordwhacker) - Original Fiction
Title: The Point
Fandom: Original
Prompt: #171 - Bastard
Word Count: 550
Rating: G
Billy was the hard corners of a man only; the rest was imagined, filling in the space between. He came up over the hill one point at a time, the long shadow of him descending in front, a black dividing line on the dusty streets. To say that the law feared him was to be too blunt about it; Billy demanded a quieter understanding, a tacit acceptance. The law simply stood back and let him work as though he was outside of it. And he was; he had outgrown the law a long time ago.
Graham watched, waited, stood his ground. He ground his heel into the dirt. He felt it, and heard it, differently this time than he had before. The high swell of breath that came to him every few seconds, gaspingly, felt like a weakness to him and he wished he could be utterly still. Heavily, maybe awkwardly, there was the weight of the silver star that hung on cheap flannel and moved with him, breathed with him. It was a free pass.
He knew they were watching and sensed their eyes following him. He imagined the corners of their eyes squinting against the sun that backed down against the hill, its half mile slide into town starting down the road where Billy’s points cut sharply into the scene. He was the Marshall that wasn’t; he could do the things they wouldn’t dare to do. He had a deeper need.
Billy stopped down the road fifty paces away at least, but the tip of his hat wasn’t far out of Graham’s reach. This had to be quick, before it was dark. Graham’s night vision was blurry at best, and he had trouble telling the end of one shape and the beginning of another. He had one shot.
He had been poised for this all day, his nerves aching for the challenge. Billy waited; the bastard was patient.
“You’re under arrest,” he said, his voice cracking once. He coughed the dryness from his throat.
“This ain’t your fight.” His voice was quiet, not intimidated by the shroud of emptiness on the town. “You think a tin star’ll keep me from shooting you?”
“Thought you’d like the target practice.” Graham adjusted the star so that it fell over his heart, or where he imagined it to be at least. “You wanted to know what it was like to hit a county Marshall, Billy? You go right ahead.”
Billy didn’t move. “I’m willin’ to give you the benefit of the doubt, Marshall, since you’re not from around these parts. This is my town. It runs all right without you. Now you can sit back and collect your pay check and keep things nice and peaceful – “
The shot rang out sharply across the arid turf. Billy’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he slumped, a dark pool forming under him. Graham turned to leave as the crowd gathered around the criminal come martyr.
“Marshall – Marshall!” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. A boy with a shock of tousled blond hair stared at him in a kind of slack-jawed awe. “You shot him. You shot him dead!”
“That I did, son.”
“But he didn’t – you don’t even know him, do you?”
Graham holstered his gun. “That’s the point, kid. Isn’t it?”
Fandom: Original
Prompt: #171 - Bastard
Word Count: 550
Rating: G
Billy was the hard corners of a man only; the rest was imagined, filling in the space between. He came up over the hill one point at a time, the long shadow of him descending in front, a black dividing line on the dusty streets. To say that the law feared him was to be too blunt about it; Billy demanded a quieter understanding, a tacit acceptance. The law simply stood back and let him work as though he was outside of it. And he was; he had outgrown the law a long time ago.
Graham watched, waited, stood his ground. He ground his heel into the dirt. He felt it, and heard it, differently this time than he had before. The high swell of breath that came to him every few seconds, gaspingly, felt like a weakness to him and he wished he could be utterly still. Heavily, maybe awkwardly, there was the weight of the silver star that hung on cheap flannel and moved with him, breathed with him. It was a free pass.
He knew they were watching and sensed their eyes following him. He imagined the corners of their eyes squinting against the sun that backed down against the hill, its half mile slide into town starting down the road where Billy’s points cut sharply into the scene. He was the Marshall that wasn’t; he could do the things they wouldn’t dare to do. He had a deeper need.
Billy stopped down the road fifty paces away at least, but the tip of his hat wasn’t far out of Graham’s reach. This had to be quick, before it was dark. Graham’s night vision was blurry at best, and he had trouble telling the end of one shape and the beginning of another. He had one shot.
He had been poised for this all day, his nerves aching for the challenge. Billy waited; the bastard was patient.
“You’re under arrest,” he said, his voice cracking once. He coughed the dryness from his throat.
“This ain’t your fight.” His voice was quiet, not intimidated by the shroud of emptiness on the town. “You think a tin star’ll keep me from shooting you?”
“Thought you’d like the target practice.” Graham adjusted the star so that it fell over his heart, or where he imagined it to be at least. “You wanted to know what it was like to hit a county Marshall, Billy? You go right ahead.”
Billy didn’t move. “I’m willin’ to give you the benefit of the doubt, Marshall, since you’re not from around these parts. This is my town. It runs all right without you. Now you can sit back and collect your pay check and keep things nice and peaceful – “
The shot rang out sharply across the arid turf. Billy’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he slumped, a dark pool forming under him. Graham turned to leave as the crowd gathered around the criminal come martyr.
“Marshall – Marshall!” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. A boy with a shock of tousled blond hair stared at him in a kind of slack-jawed awe. “You shot him. You shot him dead!”
“That I did, son.”
“But he didn’t – you don’t even know him, do you?”
Graham holstered his gun. “That’s the point, kid. Isn’t it?”