It was a late night and the air was cold and bitter. There was a man who stood about a full foot higher than most men, wider than most men, tossing and turning a bit of wood over in an open flame with a metal poker.
A footfall behind him and he turned, reaching to his belt to pull out his stolen steel revolver. When he turned he could see her eyes glimmering in the dark.
He stood and walked away from his light, the world dimming.
“I know you’re here for me,” he said.
Sweat beaded on his brow.
No comments:
Post a Comment