Fleeing Home

Will was not interested in listening to the dirt-covered bandit’s pleas. “Yeah, I had a brother once,” he said, his face void of all emotion. Then, the marauder, seeming to understand his fate was sealed, began to weep, his face turning from an expression of hope, a pleading look of distress, to wide-eyed terror, as Will raised his newly reloaded gun and blew the scoundrel’s brain matter all over the trees behind him.

The horse whinnied loudly and tried to buck the lifeless rider from its back. Finally, the corpse’s grip slipped from the reins, and he fell to the ground, what was left of his head hitting first. The horse slowly began to trot out of the woods, stunned, but aware of his freedom. Will Tucker turned his borrowed horse around and headed back to the cabin he used to call home.

As he entered the yard, a realization of all that had just taken place began to creep at the corners of his consciousness. He pushed it aside, knowing he