AN: Hi there guys! This is just a little one shot about a western Delena. Hope you enjoy! Remember I don't own anything to do with Vampire diaries, I only wish I did x
Hazy sun, biting wind, clawing and scratching at my face. The ground, like parched, cracked, dying lips, attempts to swallow the small beads of perspiration that drips from my forehead. The cacti, barren and wilted, gathered around me like a guard. We stand on opposite sides of the track, tense. I pause, and assess him.
His eyes, I notice first. Ice blue orbs of power and destruction. His skin, caramel and crinkled like the ground he stands upon. His hair flutters in the wind, the colours of oak and hay. In his grim set mouth, sits captive a stem of wheat. He wears a shirt that matches the coat of my sleek, noble creature, my horse. He stands like the sheriff, tall, proud and invincible. That will soon change.
Friends, they said. Lover's maybe, one thought. If only they knew the truth. I loved this criminal unconditionally; many moons ago, but time changes things, people change. He used to have love and lust in those eyes when he saw me. Now he treats me as a pest, a being that needs to be exterminated. I draw a breath, his eyes flash to mine. Sympathy? Regret? I guess I will never know. I've accepted my fate, signed my name on the contract. I hope death isn't painful.
His hand raises, I gasp. A shotgun? A pistol? I can't tell. Click! He snaps the barrel into place. He's ready, as am I. "I loved you." I whisper and shut my eyes, as he pulls the steel trigger.
A pause, then silence. I open my wary eyes, any survey my surroundings. He glares, he looks puzzled and faintly hisses. A blank? A blank! He yanks the gun open, inspecting it with frustration. I take the one chance I might have, and run.
Panting, my dress clinging stubbornly to my legs. The air battering my hair and face like a sandstorm. My eyes blurry and sore in the evil glare of the midday sun, spot a building in the distance. The town's Saloon! Adrenaline bursts through me as I sprint towards those heavenly swinging doors. As I reach the porch, my feet clanking like boulders against the dark wood, He shouts. "Elena!" His voice hoarse with anger and exhaustion.
I don't turn, don't hesitate, don't stop. I burst through the doors, the old drunkards turning towards me, some curious, some feigning interest. I shout for help, most snicker and turn back to their ale pitchers, one looks sorrowful. My love, My killer, storms in like a hurricane. I duck under the bar counter, and hide behind a barrel.
"Where is she?" He screams, his velvety voice bouncing off the panelled walls. "I'm afraid I can't help you there, son. Why not have a drink and cool down a little?" A grey haired Alaric croaks in his Texan drawl. Stern and intimidating, they refuse to back down. I fear for the old bartender, he seems a kind soul. I stand up from my shield, if it's my time to go, I will go with fighting spirit.
"Honey," I snarl. "Let's not hurt others. This is our fight." Oh, if only I was as confident as my voice. He lift his gun from its resting place at his hip, and aims. Too late, he pulls the trigger as I spring behind a pillar, my golden brown hair twirling in the dust filled air. He turns and aims again, but I intercept his attempt by throwing the honey coloured scotch jar at his chest. The gun flies from his hand, spinning without mercy across the grimy floor. We both jump in desperation, arms straining, eyes burning and chests heaving as we scuttle across the floor like lizards, reaching for the gun.
I get there first, but he strikes me with his palm across my olive skinned face, turning my skin an unappealing shade of beetroot. I shrink away, dropping the gun, he catches it, laughing manically. I crawl across the floor, clutching my face. The bartender, shooing screeching, hysterical punters out the door, kicks something towards my trembling body. With a thud, it hits my calf. My killer trips as he tries to rise from the floor, giving me a chance.
I look down, squinting through the haze and burning pain in my eyes. The object is black and long, a pole? I pick it up and examine it, it's a rifle! I cry out in exasperation and relief, conflicted, filled with emotion. I look up and mouth a silent thanks to the direction where I think the bartender crouches. I stumble and crash to my feet, the room twisting and spinning. I raise the gun... aim ... fire!
In my daze, I miss. After all, I've never shot a gun before. The bullet bounces off a brass picture frame, causing it to dent. He sniggers, as disoriented as me. He uses the side of a chair to pull himself up, somehow still gripping the gun in his bruising hand. I turn slowly to face him, taking my time, drinking in our situation.
How did this happen? We met as infants, grew and blossomed together, our mothers cooed and contemplated houses and children. Our fathers discussed finances and prospects for the future. Blissfully unaware that it could possibly end in a bloody battle between a long lost love and a outlaw. But I can't think of such things now. That was a life time ago. We've changed, I think to myself as I breathe through my nose. I say my goodbyes and I shoot. I shoot my life away, sealing my destiny.
He looks on in shock and desperation, as the stone cold bullet pierces his warm blooded chest. I crouch beside him, frantically shaking and screaming at him. He can't do this! He can't leave me in this cruel world alone, where no one understands or appreciates me! I cry out like a rabid, feral monster as I hold him to me. Slowly, without mercy he takes his final, laboured breaths.
And I sit motionless as I watch the light leave my true love's eyes.