I love that boot

“Here’s the thing,” I said, “I love that boot.”

The man across from me glared. “What?” he asked.

“I love that boot.”

He brandished a machete as long as his fore arm. “You came back here for a boot?”

“I say we just kill him,” his partner blurted out around his bushy mustache.

“You tried once,” I said eyeing him, “Didn’t work out so well.”

They each took a step forward.

“But I do want my boot back.”

“Because you love it?”

“Because I love it.”

They each let out a low guttural growl as they charged.

Is the boot really worth this? I thought as I met them half way across the cabin floor.

I love that boot I reassured myself, ducking under a quick slash of the blade.

Another missed my ear by millimeters.

The mustache man’s nose shattered under my fist. He fell to the ground, holding his bloody face.

I gave ground as machete man took another swing.

And that was when it went wrong.

I tripped over the chair I’d been tied to just hours earlier and tumbled to the wooden floor.

I love that boot.

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