Vigilante

Vigilante He walked in the door a little John Wayne a little Jesus Christ six foot tall giant guns on his hips so emaciated you can count all his ribs. twelve bullets flew and twelve persons fell reload repeat the deafening clash never ended until all you could count was the dead. He stood among patrons of the local pub and made a decision like he always does that he would never do this again, never again see the blood on their faces and blood on the floor but forever carry their blood on his hands. He sighed, sheathed his hard steel turned on his heel and walked right back out that door. That wasn’t the first time and wasn’t the last that he shot the hot lead and dropped steaming brass leaving no trace but the spent cartridges strewn about. He knocked the dust off his boots and kept walking on humming a tune couldn’t remember the song unsheathed his steel and just let them play on that deafening clash never ended.