Monday, December 27, 2010

My Yearly 99 Word Western Novel

It was dark, black on black. Then a slight noise but it was as dark for him as it was for me. I waited, not sure why, and then edged off the step into the soft dirt. I crept along keeping one hand on my Colt and the other on the side of the building. The odor stopped me cold. I had smelled death before and this was not it.
Just as my wife called out, “Tom, lookout, a skunk,” he fired.
I dropped to my knees, not dead but wishing I was. The door latched, I heard laughter.
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