Charles Smith x Reader

Forty-Six

Your teeth bared and a kind of disgust tying your throat you jumped off your horse and approached Clark, revolver in hand.

His eyes jumped over your body, checking if there was a way to get rid of you before things could get out of hand. But the girl that struggled in his grip made it hard for him to aim.

He hardly could keep her still enough for him to move back as you came closer and closer.

"This your plan?!", his voice cut through the storm of screams and deaths like a knife through flesh. "Of course it is! Savage loving hillbilly! You and your stranger crossbreed should have died in that fire."

Your eyes flinched and for a brief moment your feet froze to the ground.

"Crossbreed...", you muttered.

Your hand sunk. All of a sudden the weight of the world was back and it felt like you couldn't breathe.

Crossbreed.

You've had heard your fair share of nasty names. But this was different. It felt like the worst of insults and it wasn't even dedicated towards you.

No, this was far deeper than a few insults thrown your direction.

"His name... is Charles.", you pressed out between clenched teeth and pointed your gun at him. "And you won't insult him. Ever again."

Your finger was already on the trigger as Clark jumped back. The girl stumbled, covering most of him with her own body.

A scream escaped her.

The bullet you fired grazed her cheek. It wasn't a deep wound but enough to leave a scar for the fresh of her life. Deep red blood ran down her cheek, to her chin and seeped into the white fabric of her cotton blouse.

Clark, however, wasn't as lucky. The bullet hit his right shoulder. A curse escaped him as he was thrown back into the dirt.

Blood splattered all over the ground.

He lost grip of the girl. Even though she screamed and cried in fear she managed to grasp a clear thought and hoovered away as fast as she could.

Now there was nothing that could have stopped you.

Again, you pointed your gun at him, at that piece of dirt that lay there like a street dog, whining and crying. Dedication wrapped its fingers around your heart and made it bleed.

You wanted to kill him. For the first time in your life you felt the need, no the want, to kill somebody. And the worst part about it was that you were sure you wouldn't even regret it.

Not ever.

"Eye for an eye...", you hissed, your breath hoarse and your limbs stiff. "Blood for blood."

Clark turned onto his stomach, too dazed by the pain that tore his injured shoulder apart to walk, and tried to crawl away like a worm.

Again and again he pleaded and begged. It was oddly satisfying to see him this way. So helpless and not at all cocky no more.

He had been thrown off his high horse and now he was exactly where he belonged. In the dirt, pleading for his useless existence to continue.

It made you sick to your stomach. All of a sudden there was this thought in the back of your head. Darkness clouded your mind and turned your spirit.

A bullet was too good for him. Even a knife would have been.

No, this poor excuse of a man deserved far less. You wanted to look him in the eyes and see life fade from them.

You needed to hear him choke for air and try and plead until his dying breath. You wanted him to loose all his dignity while knowing that there would never be forgiveness.

You wanted him to feel hell.

Clark was already a few steps ahead as you made up your mind. You pushed the revolver back into the holster. Then you started to approach with slow steps.

A soft whistle left your lips. A melody formed, familiar and yet so gut wrenching that it drove the taste of acid up your throat.

It was a song that people of the army used to sing while marching into sacred land. You remembered it from a time when you had been a kid.

Blood was in the air.

The ground below your feet seemed to shake with pain. Earth screamed as blood downed her. Trees trembled with protest that they were forced to see humans fight a pointless war.

The fighting around you climbed to its height. More and more perished and even less managed to remain unharmed.

Guns against knifes.

Men against women.

Humans against humans.

In the end it wouldn't matter. The dead would be mourned and the living would be cursed.

Briefly, you allowed yourself to let your eyes wander around. Most of the kids had picked up weapons as well. Women in the clothes of the settlers tried to fight down men in uniforms.

If there was a devil then this was his work.

Your eyes flinched as you witnessed a man grab a small girl by her neck and snap it just because she had chased a knife down his leg.

Red.

The word was nothing but red. Colours mixed, twisted and turned. But red remained. And the stench of iron made your head spin.

Your attention returned to sheriff Clark. He had made it back to his feet, that bastard. Shaking, he pulled himself along the wall of the house. Again and again he threw glances over his shoulder to see how close his death bringer was.

Look at me, you thought and a slow smile grew on your lips. Look at me. Fear me. I am your last, your first and your only.

The one who would kill him.

Even though it made your skin crawl you couldn't deny the excitement that made your heart beat faster. It was like a drug, like a corruption that would leave a stain on your soul for the rest of your life.

But it was fine. You were willing to pay the price.

You were barely a stones throw away from him as, all of a sudden, a weight struck you. With a grunt you were thrown to the ground and pain tore your body apart.