The man shot his pistol in the air, and the dog ran, sprinting far into the night.
The man, Brandon, wore black boots, a green poncho that barely covered his torso, and a thin grey undershirt. A waterskin and holsters for weapons were scattered along his belt. His golden brown hair reflected the orange dawn skies. He laughed just a little bit as the dog ran far away from him.
Brandon put his gun, a Baretta 92FS, onto the right side of his lap. A .44 Magnum lay just below it in a holster adjacent to an empty one to be filled by the Baretta. On the other side of his hip was a suppressed 9mm and a combat knife. With these he had slain many animals and just as many humans. The dog that wandered too close to him wasn’t particularly lucky, but it didn’t do anything to him first. His campfire crackled as he sat against the beginning of a massive mountain, a muted orange against the dark blue sky where the sun was setting. He quietly ate his meal of what few fruits he could find and some squirrel that he shot earlier that day.
This day in particular was uneventful, consisting exclusively of walking from dusk to dawn. He usually couldn’t find a place better than the one he was at tonight, but today he was really counting on that hope to carry him through the monotonous of the day’s travel. As Brandon pecked at his food, he could hardly remember anything from that day. Aside, of course, from the sweltering heat of the sun. He remembered how it beat down on him throughout the day. Brandon had grown to resist its waves better in his many years of wandering, but it still makes anyone, even someone with that much experience sweat up a storm. Thankfully, there was the occasional pond that was caught in eternal shade or a small cave where he could fill his waterskin. He probably would be dead without them. He took the last bite of fruit and his meal was finished.
He stood up slowly, gazing at the sunset. A smile began to form and stretch across his face. The sunset, especially out here, was absolutely breathtaking. The warm orange glow of his enemy during the daytime comforted him at night, contrasting with the dark blue of the sky around it. Stars began to take shape, surrounding the great circle of beauty in the sky with thousands of small, perfect dots. Brandon was grinning ear to ear now. He took a sip from his waterskin and stared longingly into the sun. It disintegrated below the line of the world, making way for the moons. He sat back down and laid back against the mountain, and fell asleep fast.
He woke up early the next morning to a man in a black jacket and jeans sleeping with his head rested on a small rock near where the fire burned. He tried to look at the man’s face but it was obscured from his black hair. On his lap was a sawed-off shotgun, and on his belt was a long revolver. Brandon gradually stood up, drawing out his 9mm and Baretta as he did. He pointed the 9 at the man and shot his Baretta into the sky, the sound echoing all around him. The man looked up slowly, his eyes obscured by his aviator sunglasses. His face remained neutral. Brandon pointed his Baretta at the man along with his 9. They both stared in silence at each other for what felt like eternity, listening to the wind blow as the black sky turned orange behind the mountain he slept against. Brandon said, “I’m tired from yesterday. If you planned on fighting, could we just not?” Another couple thousand years passed. The man said, “I was going to, but now that you say it-”
A small flash of green shone for half a second and he was gone. Brandon looked around quickly. Had the man gone anywhere? A loud bang filled the air and buckshot came from his left. He leapt out of the way and landed on the ground, barely dodging. He heard the same bang, this time from about 4 o’ clock. He stood up fast and sprinted, trying desperately to get out of the way. He was hit by a pellet on the right side of his leg. He stood still, holstered his 9, and pulled out his .44, pointing one gun at each side. A voice from behind him said, “Don’t wake me up like that, ever.” Brandon turned around and the man was there to greet him with a sawed off shotgun pointed at his chest. He pointed his guns in the air. “I like how you planned out that whole thing at the beginning where you shot up while still having a gun pointed at me, I’m not gonna shoot ya.” The man turned around and began walking away. Brandon pointed his .44 at him and shot. The man seemed to have not heard it, but then disappeared in another flash of green and reappeared in front of him, this time with the revolver on his forehead. “Goddamn, you can’t expect someone to just settle for that!” The last thing Brandon saw before his world went black was the man’s finger tightening around the trigger.
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