Wednesday's Three Word Wednesday
The words over at Three Word Wednesday are glare, luster and threat.
Westward Expansion
We’re on a steam train heading west.
The gentle rocking, the click of the tracks, has lured most of the passengers asleep, including my parents. The excitement of travel, the luster and red velvet of the dining car has left me immune to the sleepy tonic of traveling by rail. I sit by a small table with a oil lamp and try my hand at drawing the blurred landscape as it goes rushing past the windows.
There’s a great bear of a man in one of the floral wingback chairs. His girth washes over the chair arms. He’s smoking a thick cigar and slowly turns in his fingers a small glass filled with amber liquid.
He notes my casual stare and glares.
“Can you shoot?” he asks, his jowls shaking as he speaks.
“Pardon?”
“It’s an easy question,” he says, taking a pearl-handled six-gun from a leather holster under his jacket. “I’m too old and fat to be much good here. And the threat is real. Can you handle a six-shooter or not?”
I’m about to speak when the train lurches. Brakes squeal, metal-on-metal, as the cars slow and groan under the sudden stress. Out of the window, I realize what the fat man’s talking about. A war party has materialized on the bluffs, hundreds of braves in feathers and war paint.
"Can you shoot or not?"
I make a run for the sleeping car, the fat man hurling curses as I retreat.
I return with father’s Winchester 1873 and several boxes of cartridges.
“Oh, I can shoot,” I say, cocking the Winchester’s lever handle. "Ready when you are, Mr. Carson."
Westward Expansion
We’re on a steam train heading west.
The gentle rocking, the click of the tracks, has lured most of the passengers asleep, including my parents. The excitement of travel, the luster and red velvet of the dining car has left me immune to the sleepy tonic of traveling by rail. I sit by a small table with a oil lamp and try my hand at drawing the blurred landscape as it goes rushing past the windows.
There’s a great bear of a man in one of the floral wingback chairs. His girth washes over the chair arms. He’s smoking a thick cigar and slowly turns in his fingers a small glass filled with amber liquid.
He notes my casual stare and glares.
“Can you shoot?” he asks, his jowls shaking as he speaks.
“Pardon?”
“It’s an easy question,” he says, taking a pearl-handled six-gun from a leather holster under his jacket. “I’m too old and fat to be much good here. And the threat is real. Can you handle a six-shooter or not?”
I’m about to speak when the train lurches. Brakes squeal, metal-on-metal, as the cars slow and groan under the sudden stress. Out of the window, I realize what the fat man’s talking about. A war party has materialized on the bluffs, hundreds of braves in feathers and war paint.
"Can you shoot or not?"
I make a run for the sleeping car, the fat man hurling curses as I retreat.
I return with father’s Winchester 1873 and several boxes of cartridges.
“Oh, I can shoot,” I say, cocking the Winchester’s lever handle. "Ready when you are, Mr. Carson."
Comments
Love the whole set up between "you" and "Mr. Carson." Your flash fiction just gets better and better
I love how you do this... build characters, build worlds, and build expectations... then snap our expectations and show us something equally powerful that we didn't expect (or I didn't). Better still, I know to expect it, but I get so caught up in your descriptions and your world and emotion and character building, that I always forget to wait for the feint.
Coldcocked again.
And I like it.
Thanks, Thom.
as always very perfectly!
The Glare of Threat
It was all clueless even till the gun is out.
You are a great writer Thom.
Rock on.
~Harsha
Not wanting to sound too interfering but still-Can I see it??
~Harsha
YOU always keep me on the edge of my seat and your descriptions have me visualizing the story like a favorite movie scene.
Can hear the words. I can also see the fat man leaning back in the chair, cool, rich and powerful! Great read. I love this sort of story.
b