American Vagrant: A Pulp

chapter:one

Out 70 miles east.

what the hell.

the bartender watched in mute horror as the poncho-wearing gunslinger shot for the third time.

the bullet narrowly dodged its target, swooshing by his left earlobe, striking the saloon's roof. he stumbled to the ground and begged for mercy.

"i'll have another whiskey," the gunslinger returned to his seat. "he'll pay for it."

the bartender, with shaky hands, filled another glass and passed it to the gunslinger. "so, how did you get your aim?"

"that's like asking a butcher how he knows the anatomy of a pig. should be quite obvious to you." he emptied the glass in a single swig and trudged out the saloon.

the wind howled outside. a sandstorm was imminent.

the gunslinger pursed his lips, contemplating the decision. then, braving the winds, he stumbled over to the Mullin Motel. the inside was dingy, lit up only by desperate splotches of candlelight.

the owner took his stand behind the counter. "Mullins here, how may I help?"

"i'd like a room." the gunslinger listlessly tossed some coins onto the countertop.

"and yer name?"

the gunslinger looked up. "Joe."

Mullins nodded and gave him the key. "Second room to the right, take the stairs."

________

land of the west. everlasting. the reflection of man at his wildest.

from his abode overlooking the town, Lord Graver stared out his window. he spun his revolver once again. shifted on a chair too comfortable to sit in. wiped off the beads of sweat forming at his forehead.

he closed his eyes, concentrating on the sand flowing from the hourglass. the falling sand wavered like the waves of the great blue. fsssh...

keep them eyes open, Graver.

he shifted once again. faced the window and the salloon that existed beyond it. he had seen the hooligan shoot the place up and walk out.

the hooligan had shot at his men.

Lord waited.

then the door flung open.

in an instant, a sweaty, frightened personage was twenty feet away from Lord. his left earlobe was bleeding.

"he scratched you up."

the man stood frozen and sweated like an ice cube in summer heat.

Lord spun his revolver again. "do you want to get fucked twice?"

the man's lips quivered. he feigned courage by steadfastly peering out the window.

"d-do we send more men this time?"he stammered in hushed tones.

"if they are all as stupid as you, i'd rather not." Lord pushed his revolver into its holster.

he had to cover his lackey's ass once again.

_________________________________________

an oasis stretched over the dry land, beckoning him.

the man pressed forward, ignoring the extravagant visuals that beholded him. he stumbled like a camel down a slope, then keeled over.

the sun persisted sadistically, burning him with its heartless heatwaves. in his hands, the pouch rumbled.

a million voices chanted in his mind: you should, you should, you should, you should...

i shall, he thought. his fingers lingered over the pouch's opening for a moment. then, he pushed. the golden grains inside shimmered.

he lightly grasped the golden sand and tossed it in the air.

return to sender, he mouthed.

the hard land he lied on began to sway. cactuses grew new shapes, and the clouds sank .

he closed his eyes in relief and gave in to his visions.

and in a flash, he had disappeared.