The banner, satin and red, near the entrance doors of the city hall, showcased it for all who opened its doors. One would stand erect to pay honor to this gentle symbol of Cardezina, circa 1871. I was said that the West was a wild liqueur bar of demons.
As for Handers, he knew quite well where he stood on the issue. For his assured expectation was of virgin white. Long eyes viewed ahead; upon a blurred horizon. Gracing on a grassy knoll feeding for hours at a time. Some of the time the dirty blades would intoxicate me into a slow motion pace. And, yes, it's all short-lived.
The revolver in Johnny's back was cocked and ready if things turned in a deadly duel. Standing yards apart, and face-to-face, a pair of eyes focused on those of his enemy. It was a fight to the death; the woman, the price for the living, stood still behind the railing with tears and outcries filled the air with supplication.
A second after, a gun shot: He was dead, shot in the heart; and surrendering his soul to the unknown. The woman fell weeping and yelped her pangs outwardly. But before the gun man grabbed her by the arm, she quieted and followed him with a bowed head, and as a trophy washed in dark blood.
I told you it was all disjointed. For it just flowed out of me quickly. All I did was just write it out...no thinking, just writing.
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