The Runner

Black Powder

It was addictive to smell the pungent cent of sulfur and the corrosive smell of black powder. It was addictive to see the residue it left, the smoke and spark. It was trhilling to see life exterminated, to see how a small action could change the life in one's eyes with the cold steel of a barrel. Holding an object, an object that can bring silence in an instant, the haste velocity of seven hundred sixty feet per second .45 Schofield. Almost symbolic in a way his hands working the tool of peace, each trigger pull the hammer launches forward, cocked back to the third position, cylinder rotated, new chamber, new bullet. The blood lust rushing through the body and heart, pounding in his body of suspense and thrill for he knew one mistake and his world would have gone black. Almost like if every pull meant something, a hidden meaning beneath the surface his hand having it's own isntinctive mind to work with persicion and accuracy. After his business, he went back to his home tattered and full of sweat. A silent relief, subtle but rough he had led out, he took off his cost and hung it up. The year eighteen ninety, a man of class and mannerisms but possessed merciless intent. He put his gun in the gun rack where his bed is and neatly hung his bandolier. He bathed in the bathroom cleaning himself, the man grinned to himself he knew he was a good shot his eyes lit up with his dark brown hazel eyes, his dark browned hair and mustache lit in the dim light. He got out of the tub and tended to his perfectly tanned skin. He dried himself and got dressed in his every day clothes a light buttoned up shirt, with his dark vest and durable trousers, high leather boots and a long brown duster. The man finished tending to himself, his every motion deliberate, precise. He equipped the gun belt neatly, and slid the revolver into the hostler and stepped into the dim morning light. The wooden floors of his home creaked beneath him as he pushed open the door, the familiar scent of dust and horse sweat mingling with the cool breeze of the main street. Some say he might have winked and greeted others with respect as he walked around town. The large town of Clementine was where he resided, wanted by many but never caught. His face plastered through different counties and towns, slick as an eel but aggressive as a bear. Some knew him by the Iron Bastard or The Runner. Clementine was waking, local merchants setting stall and townspeople working hard to live day by day, honest townfolk who were hard working for the future of their family and themselves. The sound of boots and horse steps on cobblestone and dirt echoed. He adjusted his duster feeling the weight of the .45 at his hip, the black colored metal with a gold lining of persicion and his name engraved on it with elegant cursive hand writing. The barrel lit faintly in the sunlight, his eyes turned as he walked being aware of his surroundings a nod there, a nod here greeting the local people. All knew to give him space The Runner, or better known as Nathaniel Flint moved with confidence as for he knew the balance between life and death, almost like a cruel angel's statement an angel of death. The carved scorpion on his handle of his gun seemed almost alive, a silent admiration of skill and ruthlessness as he walked down the street tipping his hat to a familiar shopkeeper he knew. Thrill was what kept him going, a man without conviction who can't sell contradiction. "Morning Barnes, just a pack of smokes, nothing else." The general store was lit, the shelves stocked with goods such as canned foods, vegetables, drinks, and more. "That'll be about $0.05 cents sir, anything else?" "No, that's all, but I need you to chose a number of one or two." The Runner said as he handed the cashier five cents and got his pack cigarettes. Something was off, as Flint said that, his voice was darkened and low, his facial expression cold and expressionless. "Why..?" Said the shopkeeper "Do it, it'll determine an out come." Flint said has his hand slid on the counter leaning on his, his other hand reaching for the gun, the shopkeeper didn't notice and spoke. "One..?" The shopkeeper said unsurely, his expression worried and confused, in the matter of a quick second Fling drew his gun and aimed at the shopkeeper, his thumb cocking the hammer to the third position ready to fire. Flint backed so the shopkeepr couldn't try to disarm him or get blood on him, "Please, I have money, Look! Y-You don't have to do this." The shopkeeper said in desperation, his voice trembling he opened the register and showed cash. But he didn't know his fate was already decided the moment The Runner entered his store, he told the shopkeeper to close his eyes. In just a quick pull, a bullet rang straight to the shopkeeper's head. He fell instantly, no blood on Flint, he took the money and exited through the backdoor by taking the keys off the shopkeeper, now he's on the run again. He walked calmly away to his house, he gets followed by a young lawman "Stop! In the name of the law, I command you to stop!" The Runner turned slowly hands in the air to his waist as he looks at the lawman, the lawman with his hand on his hip to where his gun is, The Runner slowly backs away. "Stop moving! Freeze!" The lawman approaches carefully, every movement of caution his facial expression of caution. The lawman does get close to The Runner. "Okay, I heard, freeze." The Runner says calmly as he lets the lawman approach "Turn around, hands behind your back. We know all about you." As the lawman eases his guard The Runner holds his arm to prevent the lawman from grabbing his gun, The Runner quick draws and shoots the lawman in the heart leaving him there to bleed. The Runner gets his horse and mounts it, other lawmen try to catch up The Runner takes one good look at the young lawman. He points his gun at him and fires again to his lungs, the lawmen left there gargling on his own blood choking. "Faster! Faster!" The Runner rides his horse as fast as he can, he rides into the distance, other lawmen follow pursuit The Runner opens fire at them. He counts and it's 3 officers The Runner dismounts diving to a nearby boulder for cover, he shoots his third shot and it's a hit to one of the officers leg, the fighting continues. The Runner shoots his fourth shot and it's a bulls eye to the eye of an officer. The Runner ducks his head to avoid from being hit "Two shots left.. I can hit. them." The Runner shoots another officer in the chest, he approaches the officers carefully and with his last shot, he disarms the officer with the wound on his leg and executed the officer who's wounded on the chest. "I'll make sure you bleed." The Runner removes the man's shirt and skins pieces of flesh from his arms, he make sure to remove the top layer, every slice removing skin with the sharp blade and steady persicion, surgical almost. Hee grabs the man and skins his other arm, The Runner listens intently as the man screams, he wails from pain as The Runner carefully scalps the man. With what little remains of him, The Runner slices the man's stomach and pulls out his intestines with his very own hands holding him down. The man screams in agony with every pull and every touch. The Runner drags him and eventually leaves him to die in the heat of the sun.