A.N. - Hello to the .2 people who read my shit when I was posting, ya miss me? Anyway, I missed posting on here, but I didn't really have many things I could put, so have this. It's incomplete, and probably will never be completed. I wrote it around November. Maybe expect to see more stuff soon? I don't think Gateway's ever getting finished, I totally lost all motivation to write anything dystopian after my dystopian unit in English, the whole genre just lost flavor to me.
With all the bourbon and whiskey that flowed endlessly from barrels stacked behind the counter, with all the rowdy shouts of men in the bar, and with all the music, playing with vigor night after night, his attention remained fully fixed on her. Her with her movements more graceful than anything he'd ever seen, her with her hair that was almost as dark as her eyes. Even her name was perfect to him; Feleena. It rang in his head, eternal as the flow of the alcohol, louder than the shouts of the men, and passionate as the music played by the band, night after night.
He came to Rosa's Cantina every day, staying until the night was as black as Feleena's eyes, or until the man running the bar gave him a nasty look. He tripped over himself to get her attention, and get her attention he did. He adored when she'd look at him, with her smile riddled with mischief and amusement. Sometimes the two would spend ages doing just that, looking at each other. Basking in the other's glance. But of course, Feleena had to leave, she had to work. She was a dancer at Rosa's Cantina, her job was to get gullible men to buy her drinks. Oftentimes he'd wonder if he was just another one of those gullible men. He thought about it almost as much as he thought about Feleena herself, his mind filled with doubts and love alike. He numbed them both with alcohol, leaving them to plague him tomorrow.
And of course, tomorrow is a vengeful thing. It struck him with all of its might, his joints aching with hangover, he hauled himself to Rosa's, hoping to see his black-eyed painkiller as he always did. The atmosphere that he usually loved so dearly was deafening that day. The yelling seemed to split his head in half, and the stench of liquor threatened to make him vomit, but he carried on. His usual seat in front of the bar was welcoming, the hard wooden stool brought on a sense of familiarity that calmed the hungover man. His eyes darted around frantically in search of Feleena. He looked to the usual areas where she danced, but she was nowhere to be found. Relentless as ever, though, he rose to his feet, ignoring the headache that still raged on in his skull.
There she was, behind the bar, cradled by a handsome young stranger, a gunslinger, of course. They shared a conversation, they were talking to each other. Feleena never talked to him, he thought. For a while, he stood there, unnoticed, letting the envy well up in his chest. Feleena and the stranger were laughing together, she let him hold her hand. Finally, he snapped, making himself visible to the couple. The stranger stood up, adjusting the straps on his suspenders before letting his hand go down for the gun that he wore. The stranger's silent challenge was accepted.
The roar of a gunshot,
The screams of the crowd,
The handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor.
Silence struck Rosa's harder than the bullet had struck that poor man's chest. A thousand eyes were upon him, and among them? Horrified black ones, glazed over with tears. And with that, his hangover left. In its place was a paralyzing guilt, followed by panic.
