Showdown
Arizona Sheriff Commodore Perry Owens
The Kid and I had drawn against each other a thousand times;
this would be the last.
Fate playing out on a dusty street.
Growing up together, the Kid had always been the wild one
and I’d always been the straight shooter. Today, only one of us would
walk away alive.
From the beginning he’d always been just that tiny bit
faster than me, whether with the carved out wooden guns we’d used when we were
little, or with the cast off Civil War revolvers we’d managed to beg, borrow,
or steal in our youth. The memory rested, uneasy, in the back of my mind
as I prepared for today’s work.
Different from one another as night is to day, we’d been
tighter than most natural brothers. We were that still but, he remained
the wild one and I was still the straight shooter; too late to change that!
The Kid left home first, blazing a trail of death, theft, and
destruction through three territories. When it came to gun work no one
was faster, or more willing.
I’d gone in to the lawman’s trade, deputy for too short a
time and now, town marshal; courtesy of the Kid and his fast gun.
No words. It was past time for conversation.
I felt the tug of the burning bullet on my shirt
sleeve. The Kid crumpled to the ground; dead. He’d been faster than
me. But then, he’d always been the wild one; and I’d always been the
straight shooter.
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