January 2016 75-word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO LITTLESTAR!

[HareBrain]

RULES:

Write a story inspired by the chosen theme and genre in no more than 75 words, not including the title

ONE entry per person

NO links, commentary or extraneous material in the posts, please -- the stories must stand on their own​

WHEN WRITING YOUR STORY, PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A FAMILY-FRIENDLY FORUM

All stories Copyright 2016 by their respective authors,​

who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here
The complete rules can be found at RULES FOR THE WRITING CHALLENGES

Contest ends at 11:59 pm GMT, January 23, 2016

Voting Ends at 11:59 pm GMT, January 28, 2016

You do not have to submit a story in order to vote --​

in fact, we encourage all Chrons members to take part in choosing a winner



The Magnificent Prize:​

​

​

The Dignified Congratulations/Grovelling Admiration of Your Peers
and the challenge of choosing next month's theme and genre


Theme:

Hair

Genre:

Weird Western



This thread to be used for entries only.​

Please keep all comments to the DISCUSSION THREAD

We invite (and indeed hope for) lively discussion and speculation about the stories as they are posted, so long as it doesn't involve the author explaining the plot.


** Please do not use the "Like" button in this thread! **​

 

[Hex]

The Cough

Dusty huddled in the corner, hat shading his face. "Wanted t' marry you, Bella," he choked. "Shoulda told you."

The floor chilled her knees. "You've told me now."

"You'd have said yes?" Coughing racked his body.

No harm being kind. Not now. "I would."

"Ah, Bella…" He coughed again. A bile-covered hairball shot from his mouth and splattered on the boards of the saloon.

Dusty wiped his mouth. "I'll speak t' yer pa."

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

The Adversary

Some of our warriors thought he was a demon, because of his yellow hair and blue eyes. “He is just a man,” I said. “He will die like any other.”

When the Battle of the Greasy Grass was over, the white men came to look for his body. I do not know what they found, but it was not him. I saw him rise into the clouds laughing, his long hair flaming like the sun.

 

[Starbeast]

Opening day at Starbeast & Tonto's Salon & Hoof Manicure​

"Listen palomino, pal of mine. To be successful, we have to look like we know what we're doing. We have to act, fruity."

"Huh?"

"Mince."

"What?"

(whispers in horse's ear)

"OOOOOOOOoooooooooooh."

(door opens) "Howdy. I'm Cindy, and I'd like a perm. How are you horsey?"

"I feel Fabulous. I guarantee you'll look yummy, darling."

"Are you two, life partners?"

"Nah. We're pretending to mince, to look like we know what we're doing."

"What?!"

"TON-TOE!!!!!!"

 

[Cat's Cradle]

The Ten Lethal Braids of Medusa Wu

“Whore!”
As they approached, she removed her Stetson.
“Return the Church’s Weapon.”
She raised one finger.
“Brothers, draw revolvers!”
Medusa Wu flicked her head, casting long, iron-capped braids whistling toward the forehead of each of the Brothers Cain; the caps impacted shatteringly, flesh rippling as when stones are flung into stilled water. Men fell forward like chorus girls bowing deeply.
She hurried to her wagon; the Adam Bomb must tonight rest with less pious people.

 

[Culhwch]

The Witch of Stone Man Ridge

They said no man could kill the witch of Stone Man Ridge.

A whole mess had tried. Handsome Pete Walton. Dave ‘Dead-Eye’ Deeks. The Innsmouth Three. Terrible Tim Tibbins. The Miskatonic Kid. Statues, now, the lot of them.

I went up there and cut her damn head off, cursed snakes and all. Threw it at the sheriff's feet.

‘How…?’

‘I ain’t no man,’ I said, pulling out my purse. ‘Now about my reward…’

 

[juelz4sure]

Fateless

“Death, for stealing a Hair of Fate!” The lone woman said downing some firewater. Pulling out her six shooter, she took aim firing a round into her mother’s skull. Raising the bottle to her mouth, she spat firewater on her mother lighting a match to burn her. Ashes rose from her body as the lone woman turned away.

The woman rose, ashes still rising from her. “I stole my own Hair of Fate, stupid girl.”

 

[TitaniumTi]

Best Served Cold

He shoves her – me – and she tumbles off the verandah.

She scrambles up, arm nursing a broken rib. I burn with memories – pain, fear, humiliation. My shaven head, bare to cold winds and colder stares. Titters and guffaws.

He spits, turns and freezes. Eyes widen.

My gun hand doesn’t waver. My left hand pulls the pins from my hair. It falls around my shoulders.

I wipe a silver strand from my eyes, aim and fire.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

RAYGUNS AT THE READY

Me and the boy went a-hunting through the long grass by the river, and we found ourselves a McDowell from Riveny Peak.

Well, the McDowells are bald as coots and this one had a single red hair in the middle of his forehead. I howled. The boy blasted his raygun. McDowell smouldered.

The boy reached down and scratched my ears. "Well done, Rusty. The best darn alien-hunting dog in the West."

 

[Droflet]

Son of the Morning Star.

The spirit of the white chief approached Swift Deer, the head bathed in blood, his hand outstretched.

“Give it to him,” Wild Eagle begged.

“No. It is mine.”

The spirit passed through his body leaving it cold, his mind roiling.

“He has gone.”

Swift Deer’s face had fallen, his eyes welling with tears.

“What is it?”

“He showed me our future.” Swift Deer removed the scalp from his pouch, stroked the golden mane and wept.

 

[Mr Orange]

Hair (aka Bad Betty Braid) gets out of a Tangle


Saloon doors swung open. Rattlesnake slithered into the dusty darkness, six shooter hung low.

“Where's Hair?”

Bounce, bounce. “Hello!”

“Ah said Hair! You’s a rabbit anyhow."

“You are here!”

“Hair!”

“My father left me his ranch, so I guess-”

Six shooter flashed, hammer cocked.

“You tryin’ ma patience!”

A blonde plait sashayed forward.

“You Hair?”

The plait stumbled, snagged on a stool and stood, a tangled mess of split ends.

“No. I’m a frayed knot.”

 

[Glen]

The hidebehind

Little Jim lashed down the huge hidebehind’s last flailing leg, his own arm bleeding badly from a sweep of the talons. Sweat lashed from him despite the biting cold and snow. The capture had exhausted him, but now he could make a new name for himself, and sell the hide to the East Coast gentry and ladies for their perriwigs.

A low growl unmanned him. He turned, his cry correctly identifying his massive attacker: ‘Mama’.

 

[Tywin]

Under an Arizona Moon: Wanted Dead or Alive.

Grizzled Pete loomed twelve feet tall and was naked from the waist up, except for his thick coat of brown hair.

“I came from Tombstone to bring ya in, Pete,” said the steely-eyed ranger.

Pete smiled. Twenty dead men had already put lead into him.

The ranger would be twenty-one.

The ranger’s bullet ripped through his chest. Pete’s smile melted as he sank to the ground.

“There’s plenty of silver in Tombstone, Pete.”

 

[Venusian Broon]

Reminiscing about the slight at the O.K. Salon

Grandpa chuckled, “Recollect it were like yesterday. The McLaury boys beelined for the frosted Afro-pompadour of Doc Holliday, their bottle blonde pre-Raphaelite curls whipping around like twisters. We thought he was a gonner.

Then Wyatt sprung out in suede kitten-heeled boots. Coiffured secretly. Asymmetric dreadlocks and triple handlebar moustache. Slayed them! Jeez, those McLaury’s vanished!”

“Wow, Grandpa!” the youngest exclaimed. Grandpa tousled his grandson’s mullet.

“Yep, it were styling that won the west.”

 

[pambaddeley]

A Bad Hair Day

Deputy Dawg scratched his head. The prairie had turned brown, c'ept it wasn't on account of the grass dying. No siree, it was covered in a layer of short brown hair. He rubbed some between his fingers. "Coarse," he observed, then pricked an ear. What was that low drumming? The ground shook beneath his boots.

He turned, just before a wave of newly moulted mutant gophers stampeded him into the ground.

 

[ratsy]

What a Way to go!

He strode in like a king among peasants, golden locks trailing in the breeze. They all self-consciously felt their bald pates and instantly felt inferior. It was unnatural…but the women seemed to fawn over him.

Rusty challenged him to a gun fight at dusk. Of course they shot the golden man when his back was turned, and moments later they had him sheered.

Sporting their new wigs, nothing would stop them! Except syphilis.

 

[Ihe]

Hell's in the Genes

Rose tried closing her door. Too late. Carson kicked it in; she fell backwards, clutching the bible. Nobody in the saloon stopped her husband. His spur dug into her neck.

“Give it,” Carson said.

“No, please! Cloning is godless,” she sobbed.

“Now so am I. Give me my son’s hair!”

The blonde lock bookmarked cruel verses about children inheriting imaginary kingdoms.

Lies. Billy’s death proved God had never been on his side to begin with.

 

[mosaix]

Fall Out At The OK Corral

"What d'yer think, Sundance?"

"Awful. Looks like a dead squirrel! Shoot it yourself?"

"Never you mind. Think I'll be recognised?"

"Since we've become um... undead, and only able to go out at night anyway, it's unlikely."

"But you must admit – the curls, the auburn tints – they do add a certain something..."

"You think? If only you could use a mirror. Tell me, just how did you acquire the name 'Butch', anyway?"

"Now look here, Kid..."

 

[Ashleyne]

Staring at 'Taches

He barged into my saloon looking like a man cow, wearing a hooded robe of dusty, matted hair.

He drew his gun, and all I could do was stare. He didn't fire, not once. He stood there as everyone shot at him. They were dead before they realised their bullets were bouncing off his robe.

He shaved their mustaches, glued them to his robe, then left. And all I could do was stand and stare.

 

[chrispenycate]

Home out of Range.​

"I'm afraid, Mister Cody…"
"Bill."
"…that while your spiritual theories of Aquarian ages and cosmic origins are possibly excellent for unsophisticated colonial audiences, the spectacle of all of you, including various equestrian redskins and Mrs. Oakley, removing all attire but headwear and singing while sharpshooting would be quite unsuitable for the British, however much sunshine it might let in."

"There might be an opening in Paris' 'Crazy Horse Saloon…'"