Genre Challenge #8~Calhoun’s last kill #daily-prompt, #genre-writing

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It had gotten to the point in Will Calhoun’s life where bloodshed was all he knew.  He had been hired so many times as a gunslinger, that his world had just become one death after another. The guilt he once had about killing any man, no longer existed within him. People needed to be dead and he got paid to make that happen. It was an alright life for a man who was quick with his hands. Then,  it all just went wrong one day.

He had been hired by a Sheriff Haley over in Carson city to protect the townsfolk from a possible visit from a bad man. An upstart snake of a man known by the name of Blackburn Hennessy.  An hombre that was known for occasionally riding into different towns and causing all kinds of mischief.  At least, that’s what the stories were that preceded him.  Sheriff Haley was a big man,  but that little tin star can only give a man so much power.  Eventually, a lawman has to be able to back up his given title. Calhoun himself had developed quite a reputation in these parts and when he stopped in Carson for some Whiskey at their saloon, the sheriff hired him on the spot to “take care of Blackburn”. It wasn’t even a day later that Calhoun took out Blackburn as soon he rode into town during the night.  He did it with one shot, right through the heart.  Blackburn didn’t even get a chance to speak out his last words before dying.

The next morning, people all over town were whispering about the death of Blackburn Bill. Calhoun unfortunately overheard some fellas talking about how Blackburn was actually hired to come kill Sheriff Haley, who had been a ruthless tyrant to all the townspeople.  Apparently, Calhoun had been swindled.  He killed a good man who was there to kill a corrupt and lecherous sheriff.

Calhoun got on his horse and rode out-of-town.  He came here, up to the mountains and breathed in the clean air.  Things were purer up here, helped a man think about his role in the world.  He looked out at the desert landscape made by God himself and realized how little a role a man plays in this world when all he only knows is one thing.

Calhoun took out his colt. 45 and made sure it was loaded.  His gut told him it was time to stop the killing. It was time to start being a better man.  All the violence of ending lives for a sawbuck would come to a stop…but, not today.  He turned his horse around and headed back to Carson city to become their new sheriff.  The town was going to be needing a new one soon, once Will Calhoun was done speaking with Sheriff Haley.

Written for The Haunted Wordsmith’s prompt- Genre Challenge #8.

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Story Starter Challenge #8 ~The Cheetos Clue #daily-prompt #story-starter-challenge #themagicshop

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The Bounty hunting couple of ‘Scratch and Crush’ had apparently missed their latest target as Victor Morrison’s apartment appeared to have been vacated.  They had been on the trail of Morrison for over a week now, after he skipped out on his latest bail hearing for assault and drug possession. Natalie ‘Scratch’ Simpson and Dominic ‘Crush’ Carlone had been hired to hunt down Mr. Morrison as their next target . The couple had been in this business for well over twelve years now with their business cards saying

“CATCHING CROOKS FOR CASH”

The chemistry they shared together was often electric but never romantic. It was one of mutual respect and a fearless determination to put away the bad guys.

“Shit, he ain’t here” Scratch said begrudgingly as she walked into the bedroom with her nine millimeter drawn in front of her.

Crush stood in the living room listening to her.  She unfortunately maybe right. They had both checked every room in the apartment and all the closets with no sign of Victor Morrison to be found anywhere.

“This place is the biggest dumping ground I’ve ever seen”  Crush yelled back at Scratch. He wasn’t exaggerating either. The apartment was filled throughout all of its interior with piles of dirty clothes, shoulder-high stacks of magazines and giant clear garbage bags filled with recyclables.

Scratch walked back into the living room, shaking her head.

“Damn. They said he was like a hoarder,” she looked down at multiple empty bags of chips and snacks on the floor, “And he liked his junk food.”

Both of them stood there a minute feeling discouraged. They were good at their jobs, having never lost a bounty until now.

Crush holstered his gun. “Come on. Lets get outta here” he said to his partner as they both headed to the front door.

As Crush began to turn the door handle, Scratch stopped walking and turned around to look back into the apartment with a look of curiosity.

“You know”…She began to walk towards pile of clothes on the floor. ” I smell Cheetos.”

“Yeah..So?” Crush replied back as started to follow her in. “The guy ate crap. Whaddya expect?”

“Yeah…Maybe..” Scratch held up her revolver in front of her as she got closer to pile of clothes, that seemed to be shaking. “But, all those bags of chips and not one of them being a damn Cheetos bag.  ISN’T THAT RIGHT, MR. MORRISON?”

She leans over the pile and pulls some clothes off the top.

Laying there surrounded by various shirts and pants, with an open bag of Cheetos, was Victor Morrison. His now disappointed face was covered in orange crumbs and swallowing  what ever incriminating Cheetos he had stuffed in his mouth.

 

Inspired by the Haunted Wordsmith’s- Story Starter Challenge #8- “I smell Cheetos”

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Twittering Tales #126 – Her Quest ~ #twittering-tales #themagicshop

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She finally had arrived at this place. It took her months of extreme travel. Thousands of miles trekked across every continent. It depleted her savings and soul. Yet, it was worth it. For here it was, the place that claimed to have the answer to the question that consumed her.

(279 characters)

For Kat’s Micro fiction challenge – Twittering Tales

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Story Starter Challenge #2~The Captive

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“Thank you, but I don’t think I can do that” Brian Phillips whispered at his captor. He had already suffered enough torture and he refused to give in to their latest demand.

“Ok, well then you leave me no choice” Monica said as she pressed the barrel of her revolver Brian’s head. He knew that despite his total aversion to what was being asked of him, he would eventually do exactly what Monica requested. At of the corner of his eyes, he could see Monica’s deep blue eyes staring directly at him, through strands of blond hair. He loved her, no matter what she threatened him with. Even after all her acts of emasculation upon him, Brian still would do anything to please her. Gun or no gun. Was it a psychological flaw within his character to just surrender his manhood or did he just desperately needed to be loved?

This wasn’t the time for self-analysis. Brian could sense that Monica was getting anxious and he simply needed to do what she asked. He slowly reaches down towards the coffee table in front of him, grabs one of the old lipsticks that was given to Monica and takes off the cap. As he finishes putting on a small smear of lipstick thus completing his face, Monica pulls the trigger. A dozen clear bubbles come floating out into the air as his daughter giggles her six year old laugh.

Brian sat there and smiled his silly-looking smeared lips. The embarrassment of “Daddy gets a makeover” was done for today. Monica would dream up some other wonderful thing for him to be a part of after this was one was over. He would do it all, because that’s what made her happy. To him, that was all the reason in the world that he needed for being “tortured”.

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Written for The Haunted Wordsmith’s -Story Starter Challenge #2

The Current Hell~#FFFC #flash-fiction #themagicshop

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I remembered it all suddenly like a flash. Bits and pieces returned to my mind, or whatever this is where my consciousness now lives. A friendly neighbor had invited me over to his house across my street. I went seeking friendship in a new town. We sat in his study and had tea. My life as I knew it before ended as I saw the bottom of the mug that was filled with drugs.

My next conscious thought was erratic and jumbled. I no longer felt myself breathing or any of my extremities. I was formless and chaotic. As best as can define it, I was no longer human. The man who gave me tea, turned out to be a scientist. He transformed my corporal form into a mass of pure electricity. I now floated inside a biosphere of his creation, fluctuating constantly. I was strong, powerful and able to control limitless types of devices.

Yet, it was pure unfiltered Hell.

I yearned for all of life’s experiences. The warm touch of a woman’s hand. Feeling my heart race from the adrenalin of exciting events.  An inhaling of God’s air on a spring day. The laughter that I shared with friends and family.  A shedding of tears at a moments notice of something sad or poignant. My humanity was taken from me, but not my soul. A soul that still felt loss, passion and pure anger. The man I once was vowed to reclaim his humanity and have vengeance on the one who did this to him.

I wait for the scientist to be away from his lab for a few hours. I dissipate my form into the machines that fill up his workshop. Slowly, I construct a new body using whatever scraps are lying about. I specifically make sure I have a plug as part of my new form. It’s small and fragile but, I can physically move around the room now. I had to move fast, before He returned and discovered my intent.

As I prepare to plug myself in, the door swings open. It’s him-the scientist. I push my plug into the wall socket knowing that I can freely leave this place and escape out into the vast infinite world of electricity to seek help. My will to regain my humanity charging through currents at the speed of light and with the force of the human spirit.

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Written for Fandago’s Flash Fiction Challenge #2

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