The End Is Nigh
About 270 words this morning.
Another Empty Chamber, Another Day
The sun had just peeked over the eastern horizon when William slid a single bullet into the Colt’s cylinder. He looked at the weapon. It looked so normal, like any other pistol he’d ever handled. He pulled back the hammer, spun the cylinder, put the barrel to his temple, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
A few minutes later, William, dressed nattily, badge shining on his jacket, strolled down the hotel stairs. He nodded to the desk clerk and turned into the restaurant. Time for breakfast. The Farrington boys would still be asleep. No one who spent the night in the whore house would be up this early.
“Bring me what’s good,” he told the hostess. “That, and plenty of coffee, ma’am.”
The hostess correctly judged what was good. Breakfast was excellent, and the coffee was hot and strong and black. He left payment on the table and left the hotel. The street outside was mostly deserted. A few people were about, mostly shopkeepers opening up for another day’s business. The dim lights of lanterns burned behind drapes across the street at the whore house. William slipped his pocket watch out of his vest pocket and checked the time.
“The end is nigh,” William said.
He snapped the watch shut, slipped it back into place, and then pulled his pistol from its holster. The spent cartridge dropped to the porch, and William loaded six bullets while leaning against a post. A farmer passing by in his mule-drawn wagon looked away when William met his curious stare. As William as he stepped off the hotel’s porch and walked, almost marched, across the street and through the whore house doors.
