Jen In Four Words

Food

The night was illuminated by the soft shining of a full moon. The sky shone with twinkling lights among a deep, black canvas. Temperatures plummeted in the desert as the wind ebbed and flowed through the land. All was silent, nothing but the wind and the sound of cattle, horses, and fowl nearby. Jen looked forward and saw a structure. As she approached, her body shivered against the icy winds of the night. Her stomach growled and pained, each moment becoming more unbearable. Finally, Jen was in front of the property.

The area was surrounded by a short wooden fence. Even under the moonlight, the fence was clearly falling apart. Splinters and cracks lined the barricade and many sections had simply fallen apart entirely. Within the perimeter, a small shack made of wood painted an off-brown that had stood the test of time. Nothing but darkness came from the dusty, cracked windows. Hung above the front door was an oil lamp emitting a soft, yellow glow. The shack was not abandoned. As Jen stared, her stomach made its demands for food. The pain became unbearable, she felt a small amount of vomit starting to rise up from her stomach. She had to do this. She had to survive.

Jen creeped along the outskirts of the farm. She headed towards the shack, her body striding low as she tip toed before being faced with the front door. Nothing but the background of livestock and the crunching of sand filled her ears. She was certain nobody knew she was there. Revolver in hand, she spun the chamber, staring down the sights before lowering the weapon. It was time to act, Jen knew she would have to fight if the occupants did not cooperate. She hugged the wall and lifted her arm. Her hand inched towards the doorknob. Jen grasped the handle tightly, and violently threw her arm back.

The door buckled under the stress but failed to open. It was locked. The noise of the door being shaken cause Jen to quickly release the doorknob. Her heart dropped, and she moved quickly to prepare herself.

Moments passed before the windows of the shack shone with light. Footsteps marched towards the door. The lock was unchained and the door squeaked open. In the darkness, a head popped out of the door. Then a neck creeped forward. Then a torso. Finally, the silhouette of a person was standing outside, scanning their surroundings. They scratched their head, looking towards the barn. It was an older gentlemen. His face clearly showed he had been sleeping. His clothing was loose and his feet were bare. Yet most surprisingly, his hands were empty. He was not ready for combat.

"Don't ya move now..." Jen muttered.

The man froze. Jen pressed the barrel of her weapon into the side of the stranger's skull. She locked the hammer back, "Lay flat, you'll live," she ordered. Her breathing became shaky before she stuttered, "I-I ain't killin' today."

An older, raspy voice piped up, "Wha... please," gasping for air between each word, "Don't... please, what do ya want from me?" He laid down on his face, his hands above his head, knees curled to his chest. The man's voice became high and distraught. His breaths became shallow as it was clear he had never experienced being a victim before. Tremors coursed through his body as the uncertainty set in.

"Just been real hungry." Jen revealed herself to the moonlight, keeping her eyes fixated on the helpless man. The revolver's artistic details were highlighted in the limited light. Each scratch and rusted spot held its own memories.

"Please... sir... I don't wanna die... Please, please... please." The man begged, tears forming in his eyes. He did not look up at his captor. He was not ready to face the situation.

But... sir?

——

Jen's voice had been mutilated by her lifestyle. Smoke, screaming, sand, and spirits all had its effect on, what was, a young lady's voice. The constant abuse resulted in a voice that only escaped in the form of a croak. Each word growled as it escaped her lips in a deep, demonic tone.

——

Jen held the revolver close to herself. "Get up, right now," She growled, before pausing, clearing her throat, and continuing, "I ain't killing tonight." She kept the man in her sight. He got up, his back still facing her. "Some food now, please."

He was turned away from Jen. His back only slightly illuminated by the moonlight. The two stood motionless on the porch. Jen gripped the revolver close and waited for the man's compliance. The man tilted his head towards his rear, the sky revealed his eyes. At first, his eyes were wide and bloodshot from the interaction.

When the two made eye contact, the man squinted, cursing under his breath. His face contorted into one of fear, then hatred, then fury.

"The Killer Cowboy."

He spun his body around and his hand flew towards her neck. The moonlight reflected off the blade clutched in his fist. Jen gasped and barely stepped back in time for the blade to fly down across the front of her face. The slice ripped a hole into the scarlet red bandana. The man lost his balance and gathered himself to strike Jen again. Jen raised her weapon to eye level and squeezed the trigger of her revolver. The hammer slammed down, punching a hole into the man. The man collapsed, screaming in agony as he gripped his chest. The blade fell from his hand as he began applying pressure with only his two bare hands. Blood seeped from between his fingers in his futile attempt to prevent his death. His eyes were forced shut, his teeth grinding while wailing and hollering obscenities at the burning sensation that could mean his demise.

Jen pulled the hammer back on her revolver, spinning a new round into place before speaking to the man again, "Keep screaming little boy."

She made her way into the house, revolver back in its holster. No time passed before she left the shack with a pitiful bag of food. Munching on stale bread, she left the man on his own porch. His eyes opened wide, and the blood pooling around his corpse. His mouth was left open and frozen. It was the familiar face of death.

"Shame... that's one more." she whispered, chewing.

Jen escaped.