That Big Bad End

A dusty road in the middle of a shanty of a town.

Little more than old boards and rusty nails on the flat landscape.

Two figures heated with sunlight and aggresion stomp towards one another. Fear is in them both. Not a fear of each other. They hate each other, at least at the moment. A small argument between big egos creates one hell of a rift. A rift that can only be sealed with a searing hot metal. Anything else would only be logical.

Doesn't matter anymore who's right or wrong. In the blinding hot sun, neither can see only one could ever be called a winner. And it's neither of the participants. It's a rigged game they play. This one goes or that one does. Doesn't matter to either of them. The machines are in place, well-oiled, and ready for use. They feel heavy in a hand. As efficient as they are at what they do they never feel quite right in a hand. Not good to hang on to that power for too long anyway.

Then it's time. The dispute has to be settled. It's not like in any movie. No quick draw seen from seven angles. No woman to win, as if they could ever be. No halt, stumble, and fall. This scene is insanely sloppy and thunderously loud. Speed, violence, and poorly dispensed power whistle through the air. Some of it strikes the intended targets, some thrashes the scenery, still more strikes those completely uninvolved.

Blood splatters. Bone splinters. One has already gone, too small to be seen by anything but a fleck of metal and her mother. Breathing is made difficult. Hard to move anything, the bodies are so weak. Tears well up from strained eyes. Pain comes along to torture those still gasping for air. More pain than either bloodied figure ever expected. They're being pulled from this world tooth by tooth, or at least that's how they feel. Losing a bit of themselves day by day. A bit of blood, a bit of flesh, a bit of love or maybe respect from a family that doesn't understand why, all wasting away. They gain a fever and gangrene. They begin to understand that they won't be walking away from this or anything else anymore. How much life was left for them to live? How much better could they have done by their children? What comes next?

That ravenous vulture is taking his time coming. Coasting, unseen, for any prey he may take first. After three days, they beg for release. He comes after seven. Still unseen he takes them for his own, same as the girl, same as countless others before. Their argument is long forgotten and only Death has gained anything from the experience.