Only a Moment
Before the Gunfight
Disclaimer: Robert Rodriguez owns them, not me.
Thanks to Lunatic for the suggestion.
****
Given the fact that he was now missing two eyes, and that an unappetizing mix of blood and vitreous fluid was running down his face, Sands felt pretty good. Surprisingly so.
Fires burned in the plaza. He could hear the flames, and smell the rich odor of burning. People were shouting and screaming in the distance, and gunshots and explosions punctuated the afternoon. It was a glorious chaos, but sadly, he was going to have skip it.
Right now he had two men to kill.
The kid had said they were right in front of him. They could be fifty feet away, or five, for all he knew. Wired with plastic explosives, or stark naked. Snarling in hatred or laughing in derision.
He would never know. For the rest of his life, he was going to be dependent on other people to tell him what was happening around him.
Like the kid.
The kid, who was still there. He knew it.
That was unacceptable. The chances of him surviving the coming gunfight were a zillion to one, but there was still a chance. And that meant he had to plan ahead. If he survived, he would need someone to guide him.
Like the kid.
He cocked his head to one side. "I don't hear you running."
The kid lingered for a second, then took off. Little feet, the pitter-patter of expensive American sneakers in the dust. Kid sold bubble-gum for money. Probably his dad sold drugs for money. Kid was just getting started, working on his salesmanship skills.
Now it was just him and the thugs.
And only one chance of getting out of this alive. He had to force them to make a sound. Something to tell him where they were. Screaming would be preferable, but he couldn't see - oh god couldn't see - how he could accomplish that, so there was only one other choice.
Laughter.
He had to find a way to make them laugh at him - if they weren't already, that was. If they believed him a fool, they would lower their guard a little. They would think he was easy prey, just another victim. They would maybe toy with him, taunting him before killing him.
Not that he was going to give them that chance. All he needed was that first laugh. Just that one sound. He was a good shot. A damn good shot. Who needed eyes? Not him.
Just one laugh. That was all he needed.
Calmly, slowly, he drew one of his guns. It was showtime.
*****
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's written with suggestions! I'm working on new little ficlets about them, and I'll post them as soon as I get them written.
Before the Gunfight
Disclaimer: Robert Rodriguez owns them, not me.
Thanks to Lunatic for the suggestion.
****
Given the fact that he was now missing two eyes, and that an unappetizing mix of blood and vitreous fluid was running down his face, Sands felt pretty good. Surprisingly so.
Fires burned in the plaza. He could hear the flames, and smell the rich odor of burning. People were shouting and screaming in the distance, and gunshots and explosions punctuated the afternoon. It was a glorious chaos, but sadly, he was going to have skip it.
Right now he had two men to kill.
The kid had said they were right in front of him. They could be fifty feet away, or five, for all he knew. Wired with plastic explosives, or stark naked. Snarling in hatred or laughing in derision.
He would never know. For the rest of his life, he was going to be dependent on other people to tell him what was happening around him.
Like the kid.
The kid, who was still there. He knew it.
That was unacceptable. The chances of him surviving the coming gunfight were a zillion to one, but there was still a chance. And that meant he had to plan ahead. If he survived, he would need someone to guide him.
Like the kid.
He cocked his head to one side. "I don't hear you running."
The kid lingered for a second, then took off. Little feet, the pitter-patter of expensive American sneakers in the dust. Kid sold bubble-gum for money. Probably his dad sold drugs for money. Kid was just getting started, working on his salesmanship skills.
Now it was just him and the thugs.
And only one chance of getting out of this alive. He had to force them to make a sound. Something to tell him where they were. Screaming would be preferable, but he couldn't see - oh god couldn't see - how he could accomplish that, so there was only one other choice.
Laughter.
He had to find a way to make them laugh at him - if they weren't already, that was. If they believed him a fool, they would lower their guard a little. They would think he was easy prey, just another victim. They would maybe toy with him, taunting him before killing him.
Not that he was going to give them that chance. All he needed was that first laugh. Just that one sound. He was a good shot. A damn good shot. Who needed eyes? Not him.
Just one laugh. That was all he needed.
Calmly, slowly, he drew one of his guns. It was showtime.
*****
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's written with suggestions! I'm working on new little ficlets about them, and I'll post them as soon as I get them written.