A River of Red

I step out from the crowd and stop in front of my opponent.  He glares at me, and I glare back at him.  I light a cigarette and take a long pull from it. 

We stand there glaring at each other for several minutes, and the crowd starts to get nervous, wondering when we are going to draw and fire.  Red finally decides to draw on me.  It was a bad choice on his part.  Before his pistol even clears his holster, I pull mine and fire from the hip.  The slug flies through the air and impacts his neck, severing his spinal cord.  After he falls to the ground, I casually walk over to him, level my gun at his forehead, and pull the trigger.  A massive amount of blood leaks from his body into the open grave behind him.

I walk back to the line of gunman, reloading my pistol as I go.  Red is the 177th man I have killed, and he will not be the last.

The End

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