#101 Shootout

Dust rises from dry ground. My fingers tingle at my side, fingertips brushing past the coarse leather of my holster as I size up my opponent. His silhouette is dark in the blinding sun. It won’t be long now…

The churchbell rings. Once, twice, thrice. I tense and grab my gun.

Then I hear a shout: “Isabelle! Dinner’s ready!” It’s my mom.

“Yes, I’m coming!” I shout back. I stick my sling in my back pocket and look back at the cans I balanced on the big fallen tree behind the house. My fight must wait. Then I run home.