Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ It's All Been Done ❯ The Wild West ( Chapter 5 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Warnings:
AU, minor het, major angst, minor scheming, major coincidences, minor... eh, you get the idea.
Oh, and did I mention it's a [multi-]death fic?


Chapter 5: The Wild West

"... and I heard you say, 'the past was much more fun.' ...

It's all been done...
It's all been done before..."

On Saturday, I said the whole week sucked: but as bad as that was (oh, the headache...), Sunday was undeniably worse. It was like my whole life was cursed or something. Oh, right, stupid me. It was.

But I digress...

The next morning came slowly, and the sky was still a dull gray when I woke up. I stretched and immediately regretted the action as waves of pain ran through my neck and back.

Note to self: sleeping in alleys sucks. Don't do it again.

Yawning, I decided to find something to eat. When was the last time I ate, anyway? Probably a day, at least. As I wandered down the street, ducking into closed stores to find some food, I thought about how to avoid... dying... later today. I started my train of thought with ol' blue eyes the warrior. If things didn't go my way and I couldn't convince either Quatre or Relena not to allow me to die, I had to have a back-up plan. Fighting the guy wouldn't work, that was obvious (even with foul play), refusing to fight didn't work, and neither did using morals. What other options did I have? The guy had absolutely no heart, no morality, hell, no emotions even! He was like a damn stone with a weapon! How do you talk to a stone? Well, it's easy, but stones don't get up and walk away because you talk to them. You have to throw them to get them to... Throw... Hm... If I could completely throw the guy for a loop... it might work... if I could totally knock him out of his senses, I might be able to talk him out of it, or at least stun him long enough to let me get away. Yeah, I could do that... if he were human.. which he's obviously not. I had to think... any little thing I could remember from a past death... anything that affected him at least slightly....

In Rome, he was unmoved as I denied my ability to die. In the Cathedral, he was even worse, not even caring that we were in a holy place and unaffected by his own damnation. And, of course, in the tournament, he was a sto... wait. Something did throw him off... a smile. When I was dy.. yeah, I smiled and that made him unnerved. Then I complimented his eyes, and he paused again, looking confused. Yeah, he killed me anyway, but he hesitated first.

Those hesitations could save me.

But I doubted that smiling at him would make him any less likely to kill me. There had to be something I was missing.... I just had to think of what it was -exactly- that unnerved him and then flaunt it... ...and I had to think of it fast, especially if everything didn't go as well as I was planning it would. I hated to admit it to myself, but I was leaving a lot up to Fa... LUCK! Leaving a lot up to luck...

I tossed away the apple core from the fruit I had been eating for breakfast and was about to turn into another store, when I noticed the gypsy woman with dark hair. Her fiery eyes were flashing around nervously; I guess she was looking for someone. Those vibrant violet orbs rested on me for a second, then continued scanning the open area. I started walking toward her; my good nature was getting the better of me: I actually intended on helping her find whoever or whatever she was looking for. Luckily, my feet stopped before I reached her as I realized the jeopardy I was putting myself in.

Adrenaline rushing and my heart pounding, the same thoughts began twining in my brain. "Run! Run while you can! Stay away from her, avoid everything! She's the start of it all! Her and those bracelets!" I cast a glance to the shimmering trinkets on her wrist; they clanged together softly with a musical quality, and the polished gold glistened as the sun rose steadily higher into the blue sky. I felt my street instincts kick in as the thief in me plotted how easy it would be to steal from the woman. It was so tempting... "Stop it! Don't think about it! Run! Get away!" Hesitantly, I listened to that inner voice that I knew was right, and began turning my back on the woman when a few children burst from one of the stores. Two small girls were chasing a boy who held a number of apples tightly to his chest. The three ran laughing towards the woman and I. Two of the children ran past, one nearly knocking me over, but as the third continued without looking, she ran straight into my side, toppling me into the gypsy woman like a domino. The three of us fell to the ground in a heap of dust and curses. When the dust cleared, the red-haired child was gone, the mysterious dark woman was leering at me with a mix of hatred and horror, and three golden bracelets dangled from my wrist.

Hearing the clanking of the metal and feeling its cool texture against my skin was too much. Shaking my head in denial, I smiled, muttered a string of curses, and began laughing. I continued laughing, harder and harder, until my sides hurt and thin tears were squeezed from my eyes. I couldn't stop, and just laughed, even as I fell to my knees and clutched my stomach. I realized the situation, what the woman staring at me must've thought, everything, but the more I tried to halt the sound, the more I laughed. It was so incredible! Utterly impossible! It couldn't be happening! And I continued laughing at the thoughts. When I finally did stop, I sighed deeply a few times and wiped my eyes with a dusty palm. I sighed again and looked up, only to meet three pairs of intense wide eyes.

I chuckled nervously under the gypsies' unusual glares and stood up, their eyes following me. I looked from one to the other to the third and back before meekly answering their silent questions with a small wave and, "uh... hi." The family exchanged glances and spoke to each other in a strange language. Hilda smirked at me once, then continue talking with her parents.

After a few minutes of talking, the older woman and man exchanged meaningful glances, then nodded. The blonde man took my hand and pulled me up to my feet. I smiled and thanked him, but my politeness received only an icy blue glare. Before I had the chance to say anything more, Hilda grabbed my arm, said, "Come with me," and pulled me along behind her towards wherever the tent was currently set.

I followed the girl out past the boundaries of the city. There she pulled me into a tent and sat down on a few blankets. She gestured for me to sit as well, so I did. As soon as we were settled, I started the conversation, past the crap and right into the meat. I needed answers and I only had a few minutes to get them.

"So what were you and your mother in jail for?" The girl shrugged, just sitting there. I raised an eyebrow. "What, you don't know?"

The girl shrugged passively again and said, "Because we're Roma, I suppose. People seem to hate us for our blood. What they don't understand is that our heritage doesn't makes us criminals... or thieves." She looked poignantly at me.

"Yeah, yeah."

Hilda smiled and "introduced" herself. "Helena Merchase."

"Daniel Maxel."

"Dan." The girl nodded in realization, "Almost always three letter nicknames with you. Three must be your lucky number."

"I don't believe in luck."

She laughed lightly. "You don't believe in Luck, you refuse to believe in Fate (even though you've seen Her work), you don't believe in the Law, and you never believe anything anyone tells you. So what DO you believe in?"

My eyes challenging hers, I replied, "Myself."

A moment's silence filled the air before the girl began again, "My parents couldn't understand what you were laughing about, and frankly, I couldn't either. My father wanted to leave you, but my mother wanted to help you, hence the discussion."

I interrupted, "And what did -you- want to do?"

She paused, "Well, I told them that I could try to find out what was wrong with you and that it'd be good practice for me."

I had to raise my eyebrow at that. That's not what I had asked. She was dodging my question... but that wasn't important. "About your father..."

Glimmering blue eyes staring up at me, she asked. "What about him?"

"He's not a gypsy, is he?"

She rolled her eyes at that remark and rested her elbows on her knees. She sighed slightly, still smirking, answered, "you just guessed?" and rested her cheeks on her hands. Those glittering eyes never left me.

I glared back at her. "So, you're only half-gypsy? That would explain the screwed up spells..."

She sat up with a start, "MY spells are -not- 'screwed up' and I am a full blooded Roma, thank you!"

"You mean hot-blooded..." As she glared, I laughed lightly and leaned back onto my arms. "So he's not your real father?"

The mischievous smile returned and the girl replied, "He's not my father -at all-. In fact, I just met him two days ago."

I raised an eyebrow, "So who is he?"

"Hell if I know, though judging by the way he was dressed, was acting, and what he said, he was someone very important to this town."

"Was? Why isn't he anymore?"

She sighed deeply and fell onto her back in a defeated manor. "I'm going to have to tell you the whole story now, aren't I?"

I smiled and nodded. "Yup. ... And don't lie or leave anything out this time."

From her place on the blankets she grinned, "Never!" and began her short tale. "Well, as you saw, my mother and I were tossed into the prison. While we were there, we met Zex, 'my father,' as he casually stopped into the jail to talk with Deputy Teres. My mother tells me that she and Zex 'fell in love at first sight.' Because of this, Zex, who was called Milo or something at the time, promised to free my mother and I. When Teres objected (saying how Zex had 'no influence over the law yet'), Zex helped us escape just last night. He stole some clothes and posed as my father while we escaped the town and set camp. My mother only came back to get some food and supplies when you ran into her."

I thought this over for a moment. " 'No influence -yet-,' huh?"

Hilda shrugged. "That's what he said. Your turn now." She held out her hand expectantly.

I looked up from my mild reverie, "What?"

"I need your cross."

"Oh, yeah..." I nodded and handed her the necklace.

The girl took it and admired the pendant for a minute. She then held up the silver "x" and asked, "You believe in a god, but not Fate?"

I glared at her. "Yes, I believe in God, and let's not start a religious discussion right now, all right? I don't have enough time to argue."

She shrugged, knowing smile once again on her lips, "All right, sorry I asked." Hilda performed her task of relaying the future, and once again looked into my eyes, waiting for me to ask what she say.

I grabbed my necklace from her outstretched hand and as I refastened the clasp, I told her firmly, "Yes, I'm sure. Just tell me."

Straight faced, the girl spoke strongly, "You're going to die tonight."

I swallowed the sudden bit of fearful anticipation that rose to my throat. "Where?"

"Hm?" She looked up from where her eyes had rested on her hands.

"Where am I supposed to die?"

She shrugged. "You're going to die in a shoot-out of some sort in the street."

My expression dropped in disbelief. "That's it? A gun fight in the road? Nowhere special?"

She smirked, "What were you expecting? The Coliseum?"

I blinked, then nodded, "Yes!"

Hilda shook her head. "This is a small town." Her voice took on a sarcastic note, "I'm sorry Dan, but there's no grand architecture for you to be killed in." I rolled my eyes once again. "I'm not kidding, though. Fate has determined that you will die tonight, in the main street, by a warrior's hand. I don't decide these things."

I sighed as my mind ran through the possibilities. "The street. I've been lowered to the dusty street. Of all places to die... I can't believe it! That's a long way from Notre Dame, ya know..."

She shook her dark head, "Deux..."

Ignoring her slip of names, I continued "And everything's so much more confusing now than it was then, too! What with Zeches and Relena and Quatre and..." I silenced abruptly in realization.

"Dan?" Hilda questioned.

I smirked, muttered the three blondes' names again, then nodded. "I'm going to die tonight."

"You can't run fro..." Hilda paused, mid-sentence and blinked in confusion. "You are? Without an argument?"

"Yeah." I stood, prepared to leave. "Because I didn't know yesterday what I do now. But next time..."

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, "Who said there's a next time?" and I was forced to stop my grand exit.

My confident smirk dropped and I turned on my heel, questioning her sharply, "What?"

"You intend on fighting your destiny. I can't stop you, no matter how much of an idiot you are. But," She held up a finger, "Fate can. I told you this curse wouldn't last. If you're relying on information to save you, who says you'll remember next time? This could be the -last- time you remember your past lives." The girl sighed lightly. Knowing what her pause meant, I reluctantly sat back down, shaking my head.

"You've had more than one chance to prove that Fate can be changed. This life, or the past ones, you've still died on this day. Everything you've done in this life has been done in vain if you don't remember this life next time. You admit that you'll die today, but you have to realize that there might not be a next time."

My demeanor grim, I answered, "I have to remember, Hilda. You can't do this to me and then just take it away like that."

The girl replied sharply, "I told you there were consequences when I made you aware of your past lives. I can't change that." She leaned in closer. "We're not in control here."

My heart was beating faster. I couldn't believe it... "No. You did it once, you can do it again. Try." I shook my head and stared at the floor. "I can't lose when I'm this close."

"I've told you before. This isn't a game. And if it is a game, then Fate is holding all of the winning cards."

I grabbed her hand and pushed it against the pendant around my neck, "Then you, 'Helena,' are the Ace up my sleeve. Do the curse again. I need to remember Saturday next time, too."

"There's no guaranteeing that..."

"I don't care! Just say it, already!"

Staring at me from a furrowed brow, Hilda muttered some foreign words and closed her cyan eyes. When she opened them again, she said, "From this life onto the next, you'll remember this day."

"And yesterday, too?"

The flaps to the tent opened and revealed her father. Hilda raised her chin and nodded to him. As the man grabbed me by my collar, I shouted back to the girl, "Well? Will I? I need Saturday too, Hilda! It's important!"

She shrugged, her glistening eyes avoiding mine at all costs. "I can try, but don't depend on it. I'll see you next time, Dan."

"No! I need Saturday, Hilda! I need it!" I was dragged out of the tent by my heels and back into the harsh midday light. I didn't know where he was taking me this time, but it was the last thing on my mind. As Zex dragged me away, I asked accusingly, "You're Milo Pecip, aren't you?"

The blonde paused for a moment, then began walking again. "No. Zex Merchase."

I nodded knowingly. "Sure, you tell -me- that, but what'll you say to Lady Uma?"

When I was finally stopped and hauled up to my feet, I came face to face with the tall woman. Uma was in spurred leather boots and carried shimmering twin pistols on each hip. "Zex." She nodded, obviously mocking him. She knew he was Milo, I knew he was Milo, and of course he did, too, but she used the name "Zex" like an insult. The man's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "And where are you heading off to in such a rush, Gypsy?" The man glared but didn't answer. They stood silently for a minute, two glaring each other down and me just watching (since the back of my shirt was still caught in Zex's fierce grip). After a short period of silence which seemed to stretch for hours, Uma's eyes fell from the man long enough to notice me. She spoke to Zex, still eyeing me, "And who is this? Picked up another one?" She reached out for me, and as I tried to back up instinctively, I was stopped by Zex's ever-present hand on my collar. The woman grabbed my necklace and stared at it for a minute before releasing the chain to fall quickly back to its place on my chest. Uma raised a thin brown eyebrow, "Well, he isn't gypsy, so who is he?"

As crystal blue met and challenged the depths of hazel, Zex spoke, "No one." He then pushed past her, me still in tow.

The woman reached out like a snake and grabbed my other arm. "If he's not a gypsy, Milo," she paused in mocking emphasis, "then what do -you- want with him?"

"And if he's not a criminal, then he's not your concern, either." He verbally spat, wrenching me back towards him.

I felt like a freaking tug-of-war rope! They continued pulling me back and forth, me helpless to fight, when Uma pulled out the trump card: or rather, she pulled out one of her guns. "He's a thief, so he's my business." Zex remained stone-faced as he pushed me into the woman's grasp (or should I say clutches?). The woman nodded and began pushing me off, with her gun mouth digging into my back. As she walked, she tossed a glance over her shoulder and hissed, "I'll be back for you later, Gypsy." And I was pushed towards the jail. Things just kept getting better and better.

At least I understood them a little better today.

I was directed into the putrid building where I was pushed to the center of the room. Surprisingly, there was a rather large audience for such a small place. The actors weren't there for reasons unknown, however, in their normal spots were the tall blonde woman with twin curls lacing the sides of her face, and her son, Quatre. A shimmering golden star on the boy's vest confirmed my suspicions: Quatre was sheriff. Shortly behind him were Teres, Reena, and Dorthy; the five seemed to have been having a conversation when Uma and I burst in.

Uma spoke, "Sorry to interrupt, but this boy is a known thief and needs to be dealt with. Excuse me." The woman began pushing me toward one of the cells, straight through the group of people.

"I'm not a 'known thief' and I didn't steal anything! Let me go!" Despite my cries (hey, they were true! I wasn't a KNOWN thief and I didn't steal anything... the bracelets were an accident, alright?), I was still pushed, rather roughly, toward the nearest prison cell.

"Excuse me, Lady Uma," Quatre broke in (Yes! Go Quat! Take command! Get me out of here!), "But who are you to charge that boy with anything?"

Uma growled softly under her breath, "Let's call it a citizen's arrest." As she began to push me into the cell once more, a clear soprano voice broke in, once again halting the woman.

"What did he steal?" Relena folded her arms and cocked her head in question.

"I beg your pardon?"

Dorthy backed her younger sister up, "Yes, we know this boy: not as a thief, but merely as a polite person who happened to fall on unlucky times. So I would also like to know: what -did- he steal?"

Uma fumbled over words for a minute, (she had no clue that I had stolen anything, and the bracelets happened to be conveniently hidden under the sleeve of my shirt) before grabbing the cross around my neck. "This. He stole this." She declared triumphantly as her fist jerked, shattering the chain.

As a few links fell to the floor, my eyes went wide. I gasped and shouted, "My cross!" and attempted to grab it back from her. In response to my attack, the woman took her gun by the barrel and slammed the handle across the back of my head. I saw the world spin and black spots jumped out of nowhere into my vision. The ground sped up to meet my face and everything went black. My last thoughts were of regret that I couldn't defend myself while unconscious. If I couldn't defend myself, I was as good as dead. The all too familiar blackness crept into my vision from the floor as my eyes closed and the noise around me blurred and echoed as if far away...


"If I may suggest, Sheriff..."


I woke from the throbbing black and red darkness, to the sound of dripping water of some unknown source. Rubbing gently the throbbing lump on the back of my skull, I slowly sat up straight. When the memories of what had happened began coming back, my hand flew to my neck, searching around my chest in vain for the necklace I knew was gone. It was gone... really gone. I sighed deeply, and as I lowered my hand in defeat, the jingle of the bracelets on my wrist mocked me. Damn things. Three of them this time...

Three. Some lucky number.

I had accepted that I was going to die. Understandably, I didn't want to, but I knew that it was inevitable. Even so, my future -would- change with my next life, and I could still be saved. The future isn't written in stone; I could still change it, I knew I could. And next time... if there were a next time... I would win. I'd beat Fate's ass down, once and for all. I knew it. After all,

I had to.

When I finally came out of my thoughts, I noticed that the sheriff, Quatre, was watching me from a chair a short distance from my cell. I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He shook his golden head lightly and muttered, "Nothing, just..." The boy paused, looking at his hands. When my eyes followed his line of sight, I found that he was mindlessly playing with a chain in his fingers. My breath caught. It was mine. Besides my clothes and my hair, it was the only thing that was truly -mine-. I wanted it back.

"I didn't steal it, you know."

The crystal blue eyes looked up. "I figured you didn't. Then I spoke with my sisters and I knew that you wouldn't have."

The boy didn't move from his seat. I waited for a minute, but only received silence. "... can I have it back?" Give it! My cross! Mine!

Mulling this over for a moment, the blonde stood and walked the short distance to my cell. Leaning over, he dropped what was left of the chain into my palm. "I don't see the harm..."

I pocketed the chain quickly, then realized that the pendant was missing. "What about my cross?"

Quatre shook his golden head, "I don't have it. I tried to get it back for you, but Teres said that if it were stolen, then you had no right to it. All I managed was the chain. It was the least I could do for you."

Grumbling about the loss, I muttered venomously, "Well, if you wanted to do more, like, oh, I don't know, pardon me and let me out of this cell, that'd be nice, too." I glared, still upset about my cross being in Teres' filthy hands. I knew Quatre wouldn't let me out, but you can't blame a guy for trying.

He smiled sadly, his expression genuine. "I wish I could."

"Why can't you?" I countered. "You're the sheriff, aren't you?"

Quatre sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I wish it were that simple."

"You wish for a lot, don't you?"

Laughing softly, he replied, "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Well why don't you stop wishing and start acting, then?" I crossed my arms, "That gold star on your vest does more than just sit there and look pretty, you know."

"I know... and I will... " he trailed off as his eyes lowered, then met mine once more. "Just not yet. I was just made sheriff -today-. I have to prove myself to the people before they'll trust my judgment."

I was confused with his logic. "How are you going to prove yourself if you give other people the power?" Like a light bulb above my head, I realized some more of that important information, even though it wouldn't save me... this time. "You. You're why Teres started those rumors about Milo and the gypsies."

Quatre's eyes widened and he leaned in with curiosity. "What?"

I nodded. "Teres started rumors about the gypsies so that you'd be sheriff and not Milo. I don't know why he'd rather have you as sheriff, though..." I looked down, then up at the blonde from the corner of my eye. Sure, I knew the answer, but I had to make -him- know it.

Frowning, Quatre finished, "... he thinks he can intimidate me because of my age." As a memory surfaced, the boy lightened and smiled, "Milo is much too stubborn to be intimidated, you see."

I smiled slightly with him, then became intense again. "You're a born leader, Quatre, I know it." At that moment in my speech, a few rough-looking men led by Lady Uma came in. "You just have to believe in your decisions and stand up for yourself."

Brow furrowed, he sighed, then responded. "I'm sorry..." My cell was opened and I was dragged across the room by my arms. As I was pushed through the twin doors, I heard the blonde sheriff say, "And who's Quatre?"


My face was in the dirt once more. Guess where I was?

The Coliseum? Please.

The Tournament? Yeah, right.

The Cathedral? I wish! Such a nice place to die....

The... street? Hell yes. Two steps out the door and we're there. Actually, they pushed me, causing me to fall flat into the dust, (yummy) so that was even less than two steps.

Yup, God hates me. Well, everyone else seemed to, so why not The Creator, too? It's like a game with Him, "how many people can I get to hate Daniel today? Oh look! Three more want to kill him! Great! Now, let's go for four...." ...I don't understand it. Huh. Like that's new. I don't understand anything anymore... -Especially gypsies.-

The people seemed to flood into the street to watch the event. (It's not every prisoner who's brought in front of the public to be killed. Lucky me.) A few laughed as I "fell" and the same few hissed and booed as I walked/was directed towards the far end of the street. What must've been hundreds of eyes - probably the whole town - were all watching me, some cheering (few), some hissing (more), some just watching (the majority). I just wanted to get it over with. I just wanted them all to stop looking at me. I just wanted to be back in that silent church with the air smelling of incense and melted wax, and the light fading through dusty stained-glass windows. And silence. I didn't want to be here, and I -really- didn't want to die.

In the crowd, I picked out Quatre's mother, and his two blonde sisters: none of which seemed very thrilled about my upcoming death. By the saloon were the entertainers. Behind me was Uma, off to the side like a hawk was Teres, and the blue-eyed gun fighter had yet to make an appearance. I spotted Hilda and her mother, Zex, and the small redhead all for a fleeting second, but then they vanished to the shadows to watch from a safe distance. Well, the gang's all here, time to start the party.

After a few minutes, the young sheriff came out of the jail and leaned against the side of the building to watch with a stern, yet worried, expression. I bowed my head; I didn't want to look at them, anyone. I didn't need their pity or their hate, and I knew full well what was coming. A second later, however, my head shot up to the sound of a horse galloping and the muttered and whispered comments of the crowd.

Enter the warrior. Stage left.

I didn't want to die. Anyone who -wants- to die, doesn't know what they're in for - believe me. Dying sucks, and I wasn't about to change my mind about it. End of all your problems? Yeah, right. Ever since I learned the truth about dying, I've only gained more problems to deal with. I mean, come on! I was fifteen! I didn't need this shit!

No, I had to stop thinking like that.. I had to stop thinking about what was coming... the pain and another life and more pa.... stop. Just stop thinking. If I kept thinking like that, I would've broken down into a quivering mass... again. No. I just had to blank out my mind entirely.... peaceful darkness... and silence.

The thin figure on horseback emerged from the dust. The whispering grew in intensity as the horse slowed to a walk against the backdrop of a golden setting sun. The light silhouetted his form, casting shadows across his stern features and outlining him in a halo of yellow light... yet that man was the farthest thing from an angel possible: he was a killer.

My killer.

"My killer... I have a killer... I'm really going to die... Stop. Silence. Just shut up, Brain."

The warrior/gun fighter dismounted in a fluid, sweeping motion and walked slowly toward me: a gun on each hip; each step he took was followed shortly by a chime of the small spurs on each boot. The crowd was silent, holding its collective breath. I silently told my heart to stop pounding, I willed the sweat on my forehead to cease, I prayed my hands would stop shaking, and I told my mind to just fucking shut up! But no one ever listens to me - not even myself. The boy paused a short distance from where I stood and cast a glance at Treize. Treize made the slightest of nods. Narrowing his eyes, the boy walked towards my in a sharp gait; clink, clink, clink.

Wait, why did he need Treize's permission? Come to think of it, every time I was killed, first Tr..

I dropped my head again and concentrated on nothing. "You're thinking too much... am I? ...or not thinking enough? And stop breathing so hard... tell that to my lungs. Relax, you know what's coming... so why is my throat dry? Stop blinking so fast, it's not normal... since when is dying normal? Your heart's not that loud, really... it seems to disagree, is it hot out here? Stop thinking about it, it'll be over soon... how can I stop thinking about it? These will be my last thoughts! Calm down, you've been through it before: you know what to expect... but oh, God, I don't want to die!"

As my mind began breaking itself down and the internal battle raged on, the external one had yet to begin. There I stood, expressionless face masking my fearful anticipation, as I waited for this guy to hand me a gun. When he finally reached me, I saw his feet pause before me (yes, I was looking at his feet. I said my eyes were down, didn't I?). I knew what the pause meant. 'Yeah, I look pathetic: I'm a thief and I'm about to die. What do you expect?' When I heard muttering from the crowd, I knew he had asked them a silent question that few dared answer. (Anyone that raised their voice to a man with a gun -never mind two guns - was an idiot.) I saw two leather riding gloves hit the ground, causing a small cloud of dust to rise at my feet. A similar colored hat fell next, but I refused to look up.

I felt those steaming blue eyes burning into my hair, but still I didn't look up. I couldn't force my chin to raise, I couldn't face him. Hey, listen, you try looking death in the eyes! It's not like it's an easy thing to do or anything... Give me a break!

And I could feel that intense glare grow deeper as the boy attempted to hand me one of the two guns from his hip. I couldn't take it. I knew that if I didn't take the gun, I'd be shot without a weapon, but I knew that if I -did- take it, I'd be shot with one. Heavenly Father, how I hate lose-lose situations!

I swallowed deeply and forced my eyes to look up. As my violet clashed with his sapphire, I cringed. Eyes unwavering, I shook my head. I cleared my throat just enough so my voice wouldn't crack, then spoke softly, "I can't."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why not."

Never asks questions, does he? Just demands answers. Like the stone he is. Stone... oh right, my plan. I swallowed hard. How do you smile when you know you're going to be shot? Thinking as I had earlier this morning, the realization seemed to hit me and I smiled. It must have looked pathetic, but it was a smile, no matter how bitter. And the smile turned into harsh, sarcastic laughter as I choked, " 'Cause I'm gonna die!" I paused in my laughter at the last word, then began laughing again, my eyes falling from the gunfighter's confused face to the dusty ground. I put my hands over my eyes without even realizing it and sat down in the dust, still laughing lightly. The onlookers were silent and my laughter sounded unbalanced and thin, even to myself.

When my laughter slowed and I looked up for a moment, I saw the gunfighter looking off to the side. When I followed his glance, my eyes met Teres and my laughter stopped. As I saw him turn and walk away, I bit the inside of my lower lip until it bled. The metallic taste pooling in my mouth diverged my attention for a fleeting second as I looked back at the ground. I heard the safety of the gun click and the barrel being spun in a quick rhythm. Shaking all over, I tucked my knees to my chest and buried my head in my arms.

I could almost see the gunfighter's expression in my mind: a look of distaste without pity, like shooting a horse to put it out of its misery. I heard muttering and shuffling as the crowd disappeared back from where they came, the sport over.

In truth, no one likes watching another person die: be it stabbed, hanged, burned at the stake, decapitated, any number of painful ways men can devise, or just shot straight out. When two people duel, though, it's easy to pretend it's all a game, and the loser gets what he supposedly deserves (whether the loser wanted to fight or not). But when a stranger with no reputation is publicly executed, without a fight or a prayer, it's not worth watching. I wasn't some famous killer or someone who did some horrendous act like murder an innocent with my own bare hands; no, to them I was just some little kid who stole a necklace, and the fact that I was just like them, that any one of them could be in my place under the barrel of a gun, scared them enough to keep silent and walk away. I could call out and ask for their help as they might in my shoes, but none would help me and, truth be told, if the situation were reversed I wouldn't help them. And in a few minutes when they heard the gunshot from their homes, they wouldn't laugh and declare "justice has been served," and they wouldn't cry and declare the opposite, they would just go on with their lives.

But I would not have that luxury.

My fingers were woven deeply into my hair as I clutched my head, and as I waited for the final shot, my nails dug into my scalp causing twin lines of pain that barely phased me. I could feel the blood rushing to my head, but I knew that same blood would be rushing out of a gunshot wound momentarily... and there was nothing I could do. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and mumbled a short prayer I had heard somewhere. Before I could finish reciting the ending, though, the loud crack of a gun pierced into the back of my head, the waves of the sound forcing their way through my neck and out my ears, and as my sight faded to an abrupt blackness, everything went still.


In the brick red mist, I vaguely saw a dark figure pause, mutter, "... I'll see you next time, Dan," and then be consumed by a tsunami-like wave of scorching fire.

Then everything was silent once more.