Friday Fictioneers (03.22.13; 100-word limit)

©Douglas M Macllroy

©Douglas M Macllroy

In rolling heat, under a bleached bone sky, all you have is your horse. Guns quickly shed their bullets on dog soldiers, canteens run dry, but even a scrub should stick with you ’til the end.
They said he was a widowmaker, but I was ridin’ crowbait–I had no choice. His head was milk-dipped, a strong blaze runnin’ from ear to muzzle. A six-shooter snuffy, quick to slat his sails and leave me dusted. Not fit for ridin’.

I woke up to hot breath and a heavy hoof on my chest, hell-fired, coal-black eyes starin’ into me. Shoulda known better.

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30 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers (03.22.13; 100-word limit)

  1. The stories are good this week, hard acts to follow! This is a great one. I love the use of language, the opening few lines are very evocative. Nice work 🙂

  2. That’s a darn impressive bit of writing there…I wouldn’t even attempt such a thing. Great job I believed the language the whole way through but then again I’m from New York and may not know better. Flowed nice and sounded like the real deal to city folk like myself…

    Tom

  3. Dear Flossie,
    A “git-along little dogie” take on the prompt. Kinda fun. Loved the opening line…made me feel the heat. However, guns shedding their bullets took me out.
    shalom,
    Rochelle

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