Pack my bags and mount my horse

Hair whipped into my eyes, blocking the sun momentarily, as my booted toes caressed the cliff that led to the drop of about a thousand feet. Free air rushed my nostrils as they flared in a small flash of anger. It was gone, my world was gone. All I had now was the red dirt, blue sky, and grey ’67 Ford sitting behind me. I had made the mistake of loving things—people—who were capable of expiring; and expire, they did, though not on their own.

Raven blue eyes chased the progression of a plane as it created a thin jet stream overhead. That would be them. The familiar ache of revenge that came from being a bounty hunter was rising up through my lungs like icy water. Now was the time for revenge; for I wanted to mourn, but the only way I knew how to mourn was by sliced throats and smoking guns.

It’s time for someone to feel my pain.