George never misses.

He shoots!

The west. A time where tumble weeds tumbled across deserted streets. Searching for the two men who stood ten paces apart. Feet spread. Gazes locked. Sneers evident in the curve of their jaws slightly hidden by the crookedness of a hat. A countdown could be heard from slightly farther down the street where a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered to watch. Not unlike vultures they watched, eager for the first blood to be spilled so that they could swoop down and consume his flesh leaving only bones.

"Why'dya leave meh fer 'im? Was I not pre-e enough fer ya?" The man farthest from the crowd spoke up. He clenched his gun tighter and made a fist with his other hand. He seemed to fidget for a few moments, readjusting his stance, tweaking his hat, shaking out his hand. It could almost be mistaken for nerves if the other man didn't know that he was merely making sure all of his concealed weapons were still there.

"You know why I left, Claire." The other man, closest to the crowd spoke up. His voice had no problem carrying over to Claire. "There was only so much I could take of you yammering on and on about your poorer education. As if I could do something about it. As of I could solve all of your problems because I learned how to read." His words were soft yet they carried a dangerous undertone to them. It made a person second guess standing against him.

Claire, did not get the same warning. Instead choosing to insult the man further. "Ya big city boys er too big fer yer britches. Thinking y'all er all high 'n' mih-ty with yer edjacation from dem fancy schools. Wouldn' even help a lower man. Instead choosin' dem big ol' words like trub-turba-t-t-t. . ."

"Trigonometry?" The other man offered. He struggled with the dust constantly blowing in his eyes. Hoping Claire wouldn't notice the slight gathering of tears in the corner of his eyes. "Truculent?"

"Yeah, that der one, truc-truculen'."

"Well, it adequately describes you. So I am glad you remembered it."

"George, ya bast-"

"Claire! What did we say about swearing! What? What was the one thing I asked you to refrain from doing?" The man, now known as George, exclaimed, waving his gun around.

"No swearin'," Claire muttered, being chastised by George was humiliating. Not helped by the rather large crowd that consisted of most of the small town.

"Yes!" George cried, "No swearing. There are young ears around us."

"Is that why ya lef' me for 'im?" Claire gestured towards a young man who stood closest to the two dueling. He had his hands clasped by his waist and was modestly dressed in a pair of slacks, a long sleeved shirt with a vest over it, and boots. Not one for keeping up with the latest trends the young man tended to blend into crowds. Which is why when Claire pointed at him he startled so badly he almost fell on the lady beside him. Prompting a dirty look from her husband, to which he quickly apologized for disrupting them.

"No, Claire I told you why. It was simply too much for me. You complained and grumbled all day every day about my 'posh accent' and 'fancy education'. As if I could change how I grew up. Then when I would try and teach you, you would simply walk away claiming some other occupation! You were difficult, Claire! I wanted an equal! Not a child!" George finally showed some semblance of discontent. This seemed to be what Claire was searching for because he threw off his hat and popped the safety off his gun.

"I'm too much, eh? Well, den, you'd bet-er shoot me quick. Or I'll kill you dead and den go afta your lil' Alpha over der." The man in question, Alpha, stood stock straight and glanced at George. Pleading for him to make this quick.

Alpha was never one for violence. At 16 years old he never cared for what he could do with a gun. He'd rather be doing something more worthwhile. Pursuing his interests at the college a few towns over, he would prefer to be studying for his latest exam on law enforcement protocol in court.

"Fine then, Claire. I hope you would greet the devil for me." With that parting sentence, before anyone could process what had happened, George shot Claire.

Dead center in his chest.

George never misses.