March 2017 100 word Anonymous Challenge.

[farntfar]

**PLEASE DO NOT POST STORIES DIRECTLY TO THIS THREAD**
100-Word Anonymous Writing Challenge for March 2017.

THEME: Fear

GENRE: Western

**PLEASE DO NOT POST STORIES DIRECTLY TO THIS THREAD**



Please PM (Private Message) all entries to farntfar who will then post the entries into this thread. Entries can be sent from March 10th (now) – March 26th 19:59PM GMT. (to avoid voting conflicts with the 75 word challenge)

Once the challenge thread closes, a voting poll will be created where you can vote for your ONE favourite entry.

There will also be a guessing portion where you can try to match the Anonymous stories with their creators!

To PM me, click my profile and select 'Start a Conversation'.

 

[farntfar]

Damnation

Walker went without water for two weeks. His eyes felt like smoldering ashes. The agony of thirst had long ago weakened into a dull ache, but he could feel his blood turning into dust.

He smelled the waterhole a few heartbeats before he saw it, blazing in the desert sun like silver. He plunged his head into the filthy, stinking water. It was nearly as hot as the desert air. Walker gulped the water down his sandy throat for long minutes, relishing the sensation of drowning. The water was poison, but it couldn't kill him. Nothing could. That scared him.

 

[farntfar]

Gunman in the Night


Brenner wiped foam off his mouth and ugly beard. “Someone always goes out!”

“Not tonight,” the Sheriff insisted. “The whole town’s in three bars, men at each door, all windows nailed shut!”

“Three men dead,” Doc lamented. “No wounds.”

“We all heard the gunshots.”

“Not tonight,” the Sheriff reiterated.

“If we can’t go out,” Brenner posed, sweating, “will it come in?”

No one answered him.

An hour passed. Then a gunshot from outside! The sound of the front window shattering – though it remained intact!

Brenner fell face first onto the table.

The Sheriff cursed. A woman cried.

Outside was silence.

 

[farntfar]

The keen eye of the little yellow cardsharp


There a bar in tombstone city
where they pour a mean red-eye
and the showgirls show an awful lot as well
The cowboys cheat at poker there
And when the stakes get high
if they catch they will blow you straight to hell


My rival sat there grinning
With his gun hand by his belt
as a single card of each suit I received
and I knew I was a gonner
when I saw the card he dealt
if I couldn’t slip that 5th ace up my sleave

 

[farntfar]

Where Credit’s Due

John Tarpley was a mankiller.

When he walked Main Street, townsfolk got nervous. He had, after all, killed a Ranger in Amarillo. Twenty paces at high noon, as Tarpley told it.

He was killed the night Quick Bill O’Kelly came to town, though not by his hand. He reckoned he’d face young Billy in the street, so it must’ve been pressing business made him slip out the back door of the saloon. And there the young Willis boy found him, and put two in his back.

Quite the gunslinger, Harry Willis. Took out John Tarpley at twenty paces, I hear.

 

[farntfar]

Last shot

His fingers bled from scrambling up the cliff. Spurs clicked somewhere in the darkness behind, volume growing. I always get too excited. Five shots missed, one bullet left, and it needed to count, otherwise all this would be over—the whiskey, saloons, corseted whores, the deserts, the starry skies, the freedom.

At last the top. He ducked behind a boulder, wiped his brow, waited. The hilt of his Colt felt slick with sweat. He’d killed a man for it. I’d take it all back now. Footsteps sounded in the gloom. He stood up, pulled back the hammer and fired.

 

[farntfar]

Low Noon

He hid deep in the shadows, a stone throw away from the saloon. In his shaking hand was his Pa's gun, heavy and cold. He cursed himself for this fear and the shame it brought.

The saloon door swung open and out the man stepped, his Pa's killer.

He raised the gun, cocked the hammer and died.

~~~

Smoke trailed lazily from the barrel of his revolver. He blew on it once before smoothly holstering it. Years of being a killer had taught him to never question his fears but listen to them. Pity the kid hadn't.

 

[farntfar]

War lance.

Screams and shots echoed around the Greasy Grass river bend.

Pale Deer glanced frantically about - He shouldn’t be here, this was madness!

He clutched the war lance and, with tears streaming , fled through a whirling mass of blurred shapes.

An impact knocked him backwards into the rocks.

Unsteadily he grabbed the lance and regained his feet, the fear overwhelming him.

He scrambled madly up a slope and found himself back amongst fellow Cheyenne.

His father called to him, pride glowing in the veteran’s face.

His son was still chasing the hated Yellow Hair after wounding him in the arm!

 

[farntfar]

Knocking on Heaven's Door

Outlaw Roth Hollister, entered Lucky Ace Saloon. Everyone recognized him, then left quietly, but quickly, except for a nervous bartender.

"Four fingers of whiskey." (gulps drink) "You believe in God?"

"Yes, sir."

"I didn't, until I killed a preacher. That little man, had no fear. After I shot him, he laid down, smiled with his arms raised. He said, "Forgive him, God." Then died. I...backed away, tripped....shot myself." Roth grabbed bartender's apron. "I'm about to meet God. I'm afraid!"

"I'll pray for you."

Releasing his grip, Hollister, wept......fell on floor...and died.

The bartender, finished the prayer.

 

[farntfar]

Smoke signal


There was no doubting what those clouds signified.

Not rain for the thirsty land, generating new growth for the horses and stock. Nor signals by crafty Redskins intending mayhem. Not even the weekly iron horse crossing the continent with its freight of westbound tools, luxuries and settlers.

"Uncircle the wagons and get this show moving. That's prairie fire; if it gets us, we're gonners."

Another cloud; that was dust, a panicked buffalo herd fleeing the scent of destruction, and spots in the dusking eastern sky showed vultures riding the thermals.

Momentary but lethally hot, faster than galloping horse - prairie fear.

 

[farntfar]

I'd Give It Ten Minutes Or So...

Jake clenched his buttocks, played his queen and glanced anxiously out of the window.

“How long's Guts Malone been out there now?” asked Dan throwing down a two and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“About half an hour,” replied Spud, flipping an ace and squirming a bit.

Brad broke wind. “Can't wait much longer.”

“Me neither,” said Jake through gritted teeth.

Through the rear window of the saloon they saw the door of the crapper swing open and the enormous bulk of Guts emerge doing up his belt and wafting a hand behind him.

“You first!” they cried in unison

 

[farntfar]

The Ballad of Iron Bladder

Damn, he needed to piss. Are heroes supposed to have a weak bladder?

Claw's gang loped through the crowd in the bank like wolves through deer, two men knocking the teeth from an old Karish man. Shakes tensed, bladder like a prizefighters skull after ten rounds, fingers crawling for his gun.

Bank manager was dragged from the shadows, Claw just grinned and he surrendered the keys like candy. Hand on his gun now, thumbing back the trigger. Shakes heart hammering at his ribs. Now, now or never. Be the hero he should've always been.

He wet himself.

 

[farntfar]

Greater Good Ghosts

Old Sheriff's hand shakes, rippling the whiskey in his glass.

Sure, he's drunk, but he's also concentrating. Listening. Listening for that first gunshot to drag him into action. He knows it's coming. The fellers that rode into town earlier... Old Sheriff's met so many bad ones to know that those fellers aren't good.

Bang!

Old Sheriff sighs and picks up his gun. No, he isn't afraid of dying. He's just terrified of having to add new faces to the ones who haunt him. He never forgets the faces of the men he's killed to protect his town.

 

[farntfar]

Fear and Loathing in Tombstone, Arizona

Johnny D and Dr. T embarked on a Conestoga wagon road trip to study the wild west.

They encountered adversity along the way—wild animals, inclement weather, scoundrels. However, they didn't let these things discourage them. They persevered.

They stopped in Tombstone, Arizona, and went into the local saloon. They heard the locals whisper about a magic mushroom farm. Intrigued, they went to find the place. The mushrooms were wonderful! They quickly lost track of time.

So if you see a couple of city slickers wandering the desert, be sure to show them the way back to civilization.

 

[farntfar]

The Far Horizon

Phoenix burned a brilliant blue against the far horizon.

Joshua cowered behind a dead mesquite as explosions thundered across the starlit desert. “There’s no escape...”

He’d fled Albuquerque when those unearthly hovering cylinders rained expurgating flames down over mankind and its creations. But fire had followed along the rails, to Flagstaff, to...tonight: Phoenix and its citizens, burning to holy hell.

He’d killed that Navajo girl for getting pregnant…

Is this God’s retribution? Humanity’s mostly killers or unrepentant sinners.

A horrific, shrieking pressure rent the air. Joshua turned, horizonward, and stared near head-on at a hurtling, blue fireball.

“Shi-”

 

[farntfar]

Devil Ether

He said it would be better than whiskey, but here I am stumbling into the walls.

Maybe I would have preferred the whiskey. I’d be steadier on my feet when I face Doc Holiday. It takes a great deal of courage to face that man. He has what you might call a reputation in these parts.

Is that him? I fumble with my gun. Doc simply grabs it out of my hand. I’m helpless. He pushes me into a chair and grabs a pair of pliers.

At least the pain will be gone.

Who knew Doc Holiday was a dentist?

 

[farntfar]

A hawk with no name


The vast empty grasslands rippled like an empty sea. From my perch on his shoulder I feel the scurrying life writhing through it.

Waiting.

I hate waiting. I nip his ear, reminding him. He smoothes my wing feathers, his hand gnarled and weather roughened. Once, twice, a pause. Has he seen something? Off comes my hood, sun further west than I thought.

Up I go! Free!! Happy!!!

DINNER!!!

The varment screams in fear of death at my coming.

I AM KING!

but out there... he's waiting... sulking I lift my kill into the air return. Death waits for all.