Cowboy
Billy had never been drunk before. That’s why he didn’t feel much pain.
The stars above were bright.
The runt of the family, he’d run off from the farm and joined the ranchers. They had gone to the saloon.
The strumpet at the bar had smiled at him. After his seventh whisky she winked.
Billy felt like a man. He was somebody.
“Move over boy,” the stranger said.
Billy stood his ground. There were words, then the challenge.
Outside, Billy got shot in the chest. Alone, he lay dying.
Tomorrow they would bury him. A nobody in a nobody’s grave.
From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher
Ian is originally from South Wales. He studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He currently lives in Taiwan with his family and is a high school teacher there. He has also been a freelance writer for over 12 years, writing articles for Taiwanese educational textbooks. He has had short stories published in various genres on Short-story.me, Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.