Crack! The sound of a gunshot, the bug lay there limp and gushing greed liquid. I looked over and it was a man with a pistol dressed in blue and white cotton head to toe with black cowboy boots. He had a small black top hat on and a glove on one hand and was looking right back at me.
"Don't trust those damn bugs" he rasped. His voice was old and and when he talked it sounded like it had to be squeezed out of his body. He spun his pistol into a holster he was hiding behind his coat.
"They don't care what you think. They kill for fun..." His eyes looked blank for a split second, like he lost something. Then, he walked away and disappeared into the cloud of war. I yelled out trying to get his attention.
"What's your name?"
A voice in the distance replied, echoing and bouncing into my ears. A name that I will never forget, until the day I die.
"Welker! The Space Cowboy"
YOU ARE READING
Last Stand
Science FictionSome types of mini stories need to be in the same universe. Welcome to the paper verse. An anarchy of a world and an even better slaughter house. They say there are rules, but you don't need to follow them. They say the law will catch you, doubt it...
