Round 4 - And Those Who Dig (Dragon vs Matteo)

[Kaez]

For this round, you must write a western story in less than 750 words. The deadline is the 26th at 11:59pm PST.

[J.O.N ((Dragonwing))]

Four Bullets Short

Four men rode in to El Paso on four barreled chested stallions. Hooves sparked against the shale on the ground, like flint on steel. The dust cloud they kicked up behind them silhouetted the riders and gave warning of their arrival. By the time they thundered down the main street, townsman had slammed shut doors and windows, the brave risking a look from behind wooden slats. They caught glimpses of hard men, their clothes torn and beaten by the wilderness, their faces a mess and sun scarred.

In a line they trotted down the wide street, confidence beaming from their stance. Stopping outside the saloon they dismounted and waited. Hands on hips where heavy iron rest. It did not take them long, the saloon doors swung open with a slow creak and the sound of spurs jingling followed suit. From the shadow of the building stepped a man not unsimilar to them. He wore the same black brimmed hat, and the hardships of the west had etched themselves on his face. A wool cloak hung over a shoulder.

Sucking on a cigar as he meandered down the steps, the lazy rise of the smoke matched his pace. Looking up, his green eyes narrowed as he noted the four men lining up in front of him. He stopped and took a final puff from the cigar, before throwing it aside. His hand came to rest on his own gun.

“You boys don't seem like you're here for a drink” his voice was rough and carried a weary weight.

Stepping forward, one of the four thrust out his chest.

“You will pay for what you did to my crew. Jack.” The man spat at the ground between them.

By now the sun had reached its zenith and its oppressive glare beat down on them. Sweat tracing tracks down their faces. The saloon man did not immediately respond, letting a heavy pause fall over the scene. Three of the men glanced between their leader and their opponent, they couldn't stand still, fidgeting with their guns.

“I let you lot live, should have taken the chance and rode home to your momma's” the saloon man named Jack flashed a grin.

“Bastard!” Yelled the man to the leaders right.

Pulling his gun from his side, he raised it and fired. The roar of the shot echoed in the street and the powder burst out like a storm cloud. It was a wide shot and as the bullet whizzed past Jack's head he was drawing his own gun. Following suit as the first guy, a second man to the leaders left drew and fired, his shot grazed Jack's shoulder leaving a thin slice in his brown skin.

Calm at the centre of the storm, Jack aimed and fired. The impact of his bullet snapped back the first assailants head. Blood spraying up from between his eyes. Before his body dropped to the ground, Jack had swung to aim at the second man. Two shots rung out, a third bullet blasted off his hat. Jack's shot had found the man's stomach and with a grown he slumped face first in to the ground.

The third man was slower. Struggling to pull his gun from its holster, he saw his partners fall. Looking up to see Jack staring at him, he yelped in fear and tried to run. Jack shot him in the back and he dove head first into a trough of water.

That just left Jack and the leader of a former crew.

Rage was painted across the man's face. His hand at his gun.

“You don't want to do that boy, it's not often I give a man a third chance.”

“Fuck you! Fuck your chances!” He pulled his gun and unsteadily waved it him. “What gave you the right to attack my men! I'll kill you fucking son of a bi-”

Jacks final bullet cut off his screaming. Choking, the man looked down to see a fountain of blood pour down his chest staining his vest and shirt. Stumbling back a bit, he looked at Jack and tried to choke something out, but he felt the world go cold and black before he fell back, in to the dust.

Picking up his hat and dusting it off, Jack looked over at the corpses, flies already settling on them.

“Sorry boy, It was just good business.”

Getting on his horse, Jack rode out of town, four bullets short.

[James]

(My reviews for the flash fiction round are going to be a tad shorter than other rounds).

Jason
I honestly don’t have a lot to say about this story. It’s like Coke Zero. It might look good, it may even be nicely packaged. I might not even mind drinking it very occasionally. I don’t have any real complaints, but it’s also completely empty. There’s nothing here that’ll dig into me and force me to remember this story. Four angry, nameless men come into town. They confront a guy. He kills them. That entire story is well-written, make no doubt about that, but it means nothing to me. There was no connection between the reader and the story. I’m not going to remember this in the same way I suspect I’ll remember Ink’s flash fiction story. Or probably Sawyer’s.

At a technical level, everything was solid. The dialogue was good. I didn’t notice any glaring mistakes. The action sequence was written well. You hit a lot of those old Western tropes. I don’t have any complaints here. This was good technical writing.

But yeah, I just didn’t feel anything. I guess my one question is: what were you trying to achieve with this story? It didn’t make me think, laugh, cry, or suck me in to an entertaining story. It just existed.

I feel like this review is coming across more negatively than I intended. It was well-written and I’m really pleased to see how far your writing has come along. But the story was just… there.



I don’t know if Matteo intended to get something in. On the relatively safe assumption that he isn’t, the point goes straight to Jason. If he does get something in, I’ll read and review it, though.