In Pursuit of Justice

Ok so my micro-series is not going so well, partially because I’ve been workings on other stories.  So I suppose its only fair that I share one of them with you.  With this particular piece I was trying to tell a complete story in about 300 words.  Enjoy!

In Pursuit of Justice

You race through the underbrush, in pursuit. He is crashing through the dry foliage ahead of you, already breathing hard. You smile and raise the revolver.

“Bang!” you bellow. Your prey gives a shriek of fright as he trips and falls. Perfect. Your trick worked and you didn’t waste your last bullet.

He’s lying in the dust, panting and defeated. You approach slowly, warily, the dry leaves crackling under your feet.

“I didn’t do it,” he says, “I ain’t got the booty. You hafta believe me.” But he’s lying; you suspect the loot is hidden close by.

“’Fraid I can’t do that.” You lift your hat slightly as you say this. It’s the type of hat a man wears when he dies with his boots on. “You’re a criminal, and I’m the unwritten law.”

He tries to get up, though you both know that this is the end.


He collapses like the broken man he is, raising the dust as he falls. A final resting place; he will never move again. For a few moments the only sound left comes from a few ignorant crickets.

You tilt your hat so that it covers you eyes. Your gruesome task is done and justice was dealt fairly. Another victory.

Then he opens an eye.

“Is it my turn to be the sheriff now?” he asks.

It’s always over too soon. You sigh as you toss your little brother the hat and the revolver.

“Be careful with that, someone could get hurt,” you say, but you know that’s not true. Your dad had taken out all the pieces that did anything before he gave it to you. The only thing the antiquated weapon could hurt now was a bandit, especially when a sharp-shooting sheriff held it.

Your brother brushes himself off before he puts on the hat and picks up the revolver. He smiles.

You start running for your life.

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