One Sentence, A Full Western

Standing on the corner of the counter of The Silver Dollar Saloon, the only saloon in coal mine village Raccoon’s Crest, whilst drinking his third glass of some nice Kentucky Corn since the gunfight, the outlaw bragged to all those who wanted to hear about his latest so called heroic deed: “The man who will put down Furious Frank isn’t born yet” for the very last time, as if he sensed that at that exact moment the mother of the last man he would ever lay eyes upon, was going into labor to give birth to a now fatherless child.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 - Ronse, Belgium) started writing whilst recovering from a sports injury. He writes his disturbing fiction generally barefooted and hatless.

Blood In The Dirt

The man strolled to the saloon, thinking about what he had done and what he would do now. His family had been killed and thanks to him their murderers were dead too. Revenge had been his life from the time he was fourteen.

He pushed his way up to the bar. He ordered a whiskey and sipped it.

A drunk yelled at him to pull his gun; it didn't matter why to him.

He said, “Not here,” and he walked into the street.

The drunk followed.

“I’ll see you all soon,” the man muttered as his tears fell. “Now draw!”

From Guest Contributor Dylan Baker

The Sheriff From Little Spring

The sheriff from Little Spring, Wyoming had a reputation for tenaciously hunting any outlaw who passed through his town. Lawbreakers were so rare, in fact, that he had taken to bounty hunting in the neighboring counties. Whenever a bank robber or horse thief saw his white ten-gallon in the distance, they fled immediately. But to no avail. The sheriff from Little Spring never failed once he caught the scent.

The truth was, if he had had his druthers, the sheriff would have been an outlaw himself. His fanaticism was born more out of a sense of jealousy than of justice.

Thanks For The Snack

Coyote watched the newcomers cross the open expanse, wondering why they carried so much chattel. "It must be an important treasure to go through so much trouble," she thought to herself.

Curious, Coyote followed their passage. But even under the cover of darkness, when she approached their wagons, they used long, hollow noisemakers to drive her away.

One night, a large thunderstorm descended upon the valley. Coyote used the distraction to slip past the sentries unnoticed.

She jumped inside a wagon, and smiled at what she found. "How nice of them to carry all this food for me to eat."

Black Bart

Black Bart rode into town on his black horse, his black hat hanging low over his eyes. He had traveled two weeks to Ingalls, and the legends seemed true, with more saloons than shops, and not a lawman in sight.

Bart headed directly to the Tanglefoot, the most famous gambling establishment in all of Oklahoma. His brother spent most of his time there, and all of his money. The shootout, if necessary, would take place inside.

He was under strict orders from his mother. Bring home his brother, or die trying. Better to be shot here than disappoint his mother.

Genre: Western