Protector of His Herd
By Damian Bloodstone (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Copyright © 7/1/2012 All Rights Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.
I stood on the corner watching the sights in the red hued lights. They hadn’t changed that much. The ladies were still out in their finery selling their wares to the gents. Old things had given way to newer ones of steel and fumes. Not much better than the old smells of when I stood out on these streets.
I watched her intently as she sauntered over to a gent. She ran her hand down his front, blatantly in the way she advertised herself. I thought back to the days I had watched the same done by her past relative I had loved. I heard her scream and was there in a thought. The sound of the well-tanned leather as the six-gun slid from the holster shook the night air.
“You don’t get a second chance on my street.” I touched the one-ounce trigger, heard the fiery blast of the old long Colt 45. Watched the man let her go, grabbing his chest in pain from a shot to the heart. I observed her safely run away.
I might be a ghost but I still protected my girls, even if not 1890 anymore.