ON ALL CYLINDERS

He came out of the bar
Smiling with a tooth pick in mouth.
Like a succubus, he had devoured
Voraciously consuming my joy with no pity
Like a pirate, he had plundered.
My trinkets dangling by his right side with his colt by his left side.
Like a taskmaster, he had lashed,
The whips coiled firmly in his hands.
With a smirk on his face, he kept up his stride.
A menancing cowboy hat on his head,
With a dreadful look that showed he feared no one.

Like a drunk, I staggered out of the hospital.
My face all bandaged up from the years of torture.
My shirt badly torn from years of enduring abject poverty.
For he was the thief that constantly came to sow the tares that hindered the growth of my crops.

Still, I staggered out of the bar to face him.
For it was time to duel it out.
Lord knows a man can only take in so much before breaking.

We faced each other then.
A pace of twenty yards separating each man.
A crowd of thirty humans waiting to see me fall.
A multitude of saints waiting to watch me overcome.
A score of pigeons waiting to continue their search for food.
A dozen Vultures circling the air, waiting to feast on my entrails.

Our hands were on our sides
Each man caressing his guns like his sweet lover.
A million thoughts running through each second.
A million strategies being formulated by each minute.

"On three we shoot"
He said.

One.
Two
Three..
I shot first.
The trajectory of my bullet finding it's rest in his forehead.

Slowly, he fell.
Swiftly, resounding shouts of joy rented the air.
Town doors bursting down while people trooped out in cheers.
The destroyer was dead.
The evil taskmaster had fallen once more.

Some people came to meet me later.
Asking why I never pitied the destroyer.

Pity the bastard?
Hell no.
Son of a gun stole my joy for a long time now.
And the fool had it coming for daring to replace God in heaven and on earth.
#BASHORUN

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