The Town with No Name.

An IronAge.Media prompt - The Ambush.

With the long miles behind me, I happen upon a town with no name. A hedonist refuge, an alcohol-soaked oasis, desolate in surrounding and morals. I ride into the unknown, my horse uneasy, sensing intent as animals can, the streets deserted with eyes peeking from every nook. The Bounty I seek claims sanctuary in the solitary church, a token of morals awash in a mire of filth. Shameless cowardice takes a priest and women hostage as fodder for bargaining, but the ploy is fruitless. My senses heightened in the unquiet; I hear the slow creaking draw of the hammer being cocked from an alley as I approach the church. He isn’t alone.

It's an ambush.

Double barrel blasting aimless arrogance,
one shot elicits another, panic ridden,
missing their mark.

Nerves steeled, 
standing stoic, 
giving up no ground.

Remorseless reprisal, I draw
Squeezing steel, 
The bell tolls thrice in a split second.

Surviving goons flee,
Renouncing Allegiance,
Craven refugees.

The snake surfaces,
raining fire like a gavel,
wanton judgements retribution.

Divine intervention, I remain intact,
beaded sweat sting eyes without pity, 
faceoff at high noon.

As the dust settles, we draw, and in an instant one man meets their maker. 

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