Ficlets

Not Again

“Why do you kill people?” she asked, trembling, her face sprinkled with blood and dust. “There are so few of us left.”

It was an innocent question from a terrified victim. Not my victim. He was dead. She was his victim, but would live.

“You don’t want to know. It’s better this way.”

I slapped a fresh clip into my pistol and holstered it. Tried not to look at her.

She started sobbing.

I tweaked the brim of my hat down so I couldn’t see her eyes. Noticed blood caked on my glove. I bent down, grabbed a handful of sand, and scrubbed it off.

“A… are you just going t-to… leave me here?!”

That was the plan. Walk off into the sunset like a good post-apocalyptic gunslinger.

“I reckon so.” I reached into my jacket and put on my John Lennon sunglasses. “You can get by on his stuff.”

“Take me with you!”

“No.” I lit a cigarette.

“I’ll marry you!”

I turned, cigarette hanging from my lip.

She was blind. I’m a heavy smoker… I sound like a teenage boy.

“I’m a woman.”

“I don’t care!”

Sigh. Not again.

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