1st PlACE - the thirsty gunslinger - Kerryn Pholi
The gunslinger rode into the town of Nulo Pesos at high noon, as thirsty as a hungover camel after a breakfast of salted pretzels. His horse drooped beneath the weight of the saddle like a sad sock puppet with scoliosis when he stopped at the Baño Malo Cantina and ambled inside. The horse stayed outside, hitched to a post near a sign saying ‘Leave your horse here’ in Spanish. The gunslinger returned with a bucket of water for the horse, because he loved his horse and took good care of it. He turned and ambled back into the darkness of the saloon.
‘Whiskey’ he drawled to the bartender behind the bar.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said the bartender, polishing glasses with a grimy rag.
‘Whiskey’ drawled the gunslinger. ‘Make it a double.’
‘And what do we say?’ said the bartender, as he settled the glasses back on his pocked and cratered nose and turned to raise his eyebrows at the gunslinger.
‘…Please?’
‘Please, what?’
‘Please may I have a large whiskey, bartender?’
‘That’s better’ said the bartender. The ruined nose-scape loomed in the gunslinger’s field of vision as the drink plonked heavily on the bar before him. ‘We don’t take kindly to poor manners around here, Stranger. You best drink up and be on your way.’
A dainty hand that didn’t belong to the bartender pressed the gunslinger’s dusty shirtsleeve. ‘Never mind old Bill here, Stranger. Some of us like a man with rough etiquette around these parts.’
‘Well now, Miss’, the gunslinger drawled, ‘which parts would you like my rough etiquette around first?’ He turned wearily on the barstool to face the dainty hand’s owner.
Her large, warm, brown eyes gazed into his with absurdly long eyelashes and a placid calm that seemed somehow familiar. Her caramel skin glowed like a well-polished saddle. Her lips were like crisp red apples, and when she smiled at him her perfect white teeth glinted like sugar lumps. She tossed her glossy chestnut mane and whinnied with amusement at his awestruck stare.
The gunslinger had spent an awfully long time alone on the range with his horse.
‘Whiskey’ he drawled to the bartender behind the bar.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said the bartender, polishing glasses with a grimy rag.
‘Whiskey’ drawled the gunslinger. ‘Make it a double.’
‘And what do we say?’ said the bartender, as he settled the glasses back on his pocked and cratered nose and turned to raise his eyebrows at the gunslinger.
‘…Please?’
‘Please, what?’
‘Please may I have a large whiskey, bartender?’
‘That’s better’ said the bartender. The ruined nose-scape loomed in the gunslinger’s field of vision as the drink plonked heavily on the bar before him. ‘We don’t take kindly to poor manners around here, Stranger. You best drink up and be on your way.’
A dainty hand that didn’t belong to the bartender pressed the gunslinger’s dusty shirtsleeve. ‘Never mind old Bill here, Stranger. Some of us like a man with rough etiquette around these parts.’
‘Well now, Miss’, the gunslinger drawled, ‘which parts would you like my rough etiquette around first?’ He turned wearily on the barstool to face the dainty hand’s owner.
Her large, warm, brown eyes gazed into his with absurdly long eyelashes and a placid calm that seemed somehow familiar. Her caramel skin glowed like a well-polished saddle. Her lips were like crisp red apples, and when she smiled at him her perfect white teeth glinted like sugar lumps. She tossed her glossy chestnut mane and whinnied with amusement at his awestruck stare.
The gunslinger had spent an awfully long time alone on the range with his horse.
2nd place - dinner date - Janine campbell
As he awoke, the thought slid inexorably through his mind like a slow, fat kid on a water slide, sticking slightly along the edges then finally landing with an almighty splash before soaking through to his consciousness.
“I’m in some strife here” said the thought, before it broke off in his mind like the branch of a diseased gum tree in the hot winds blowing off the Nullabor on any given February afternoon. He registered a pain. Not a big pain but not a small one either. Just enough of a pain to register as being a pain. I’m in shock he thought and felt shocked at the thought
He glanced down at his right hand and the source of the mid-pain became more obvious. His hand was firmly skewered through the palm in to the unattractive faux oak dining table by a rather sturdy steak knife. At least he thought it was a steak knife but he was vegetarian, so he couldn’t be entirely sure. He heard her slither into the room. The rub of polyester on her ample thighs was like the whisper of doom. Only more than a whisper because of all the static, so probably more of a thunderclap than anything.
This date is not going very well, was his last thought in the moment before the fork entered his left eye and twisted into his brain.
“Grubs up” she said.
“I’m in some strife here” said the thought, before it broke off in his mind like the branch of a diseased gum tree in the hot winds blowing off the Nullabor on any given February afternoon. He registered a pain. Not a big pain but not a small one either. Just enough of a pain to register as being a pain. I’m in shock he thought and felt shocked at the thought
He glanced down at his right hand and the source of the mid-pain became more obvious. His hand was firmly skewered through the palm in to the unattractive faux oak dining table by a rather sturdy steak knife. At least he thought it was a steak knife but he was vegetarian, so he couldn’t be entirely sure. He heard her slither into the room. The rub of polyester on her ample thighs was like the whisper of doom. Only more than a whisper because of all the static, so probably more of a thunderclap than anything.
This date is not going very well, was his last thought in the moment before the fork entered his left eye and twisted into his brain.
“Grubs up” she said.
3rd place - knight of cariolina - Danielo Markiovitz
Her body was a wooden cello; hard and curved, and she looked like she knew how to play it.
Carlo’s eyes took her in, his smile like that of a jungle cat, purring in the Namibian veldt.
“Do you come with the apartment”, Carlo asked, his voice a rich baritone from years of
smoking Marlboro Red cigarettes. Elaine smiled.
“That depends”, she responded mellifluously, “on whether you’re interested?”
You could cut the atmosphere with a butter-knife, but Carlo knew better than to show his hand too early.
“It’s a little smaller than I’m looking for”, he said, sauntering languorously to the window, “but
the view is incredible”. The view from the apartment was, indeed, incredible. The bright lights
of New York glistened in the Manhattan night like condensation on a cold apple on a hot day.
“Yes, incredible, I know”, she agreed, moving towards the window as well. Carlo noticed her
breath condensing on the window, like mist on a cold day.
“So I guess you could say that I’m interested”, Carlo said, turning his back to Elaine. Out of
the corner of his eye, in the reflection, he saw Elaine draw the knife, and in a swift movement
from years of elite training, he spun and caught her wrist moments before it would have plunged
into his neck. “I’m just not sure I’m willing to pay the price”.
The knife clattered to the floor, a broken toy.
“I’m so sorry, Carlo”, she sobbed, “they said they’d kill my boy if I didn’t do it!!!”. She fell
into his arms, and Carlo could sense that, whatever blood rage had been in her previously, had
evaporated instantaneously.
“That’s OK, senorita”, he whispered, “you aren’t the first beautiful woman to try and kill me;
and you certainly will not be the last”.
“You…you think I’m beautiful?” she enquired inquisitively, her tear-stained face rising to meet
Carlo’s rugged Mediterranean visage.
“The most beautiful woman I have ever met, senorita”, Carlo lied.
Their mouths met, a tangle of tongues and broken promises. Carlo felt that Elaine was like a
wild animal uncaged, her passion exploding after aeons of neglect. As he carried her gently to
the bed, he remembered his wife, Cariolina. She had also been so light and delicate, like a
beautiful desert flower.
As he entered her, she noticed Carlo was crying. “Why are you so sad?” she said, touching his
face gently with her fingertips, which smelled like roses.
“It has been so long since I felt happiness”, he replied, his hard barriers collapsing under the
weight of her passion. Their bodies became one, and time seemed to them to have stopped
entirely while they made love, very passionately.
When they had both finished, they lay next to each other, exhausted but satisfied. “I guess
you’ll have to take the apartment now”, she smirked.
“I guess so”, he replied.
It was a pity that he would have to kill her, thought Carlo, but to appropriately avenge Cariolina,
he had no choice.
Carlo’s eyes took her in, his smile like that of a jungle cat, purring in the Namibian veldt.
“Do you come with the apartment”, Carlo asked, his voice a rich baritone from years of
smoking Marlboro Red cigarettes. Elaine smiled.
“That depends”, she responded mellifluously, “on whether you’re interested?”
You could cut the atmosphere with a butter-knife, but Carlo knew better than to show his hand too early.
“It’s a little smaller than I’m looking for”, he said, sauntering languorously to the window, “but
the view is incredible”. The view from the apartment was, indeed, incredible. The bright lights
of New York glistened in the Manhattan night like condensation on a cold apple on a hot day.
“Yes, incredible, I know”, she agreed, moving towards the window as well. Carlo noticed her
breath condensing on the window, like mist on a cold day.
“So I guess you could say that I’m interested”, Carlo said, turning his back to Elaine. Out of
the corner of his eye, in the reflection, he saw Elaine draw the knife, and in a swift movement
from years of elite training, he spun and caught her wrist moments before it would have plunged
into his neck. “I’m just not sure I’m willing to pay the price”.
The knife clattered to the floor, a broken toy.
“I’m so sorry, Carlo”, she sobbed, “they said they’d kill my boy if I didn’t do it!!!”. She fell
into his arms, and Carlo could sense that, whatever blood rage had been in her previously, had
evaporated instantaneously.
“That’s OK, senorita”, he whispered, “you aren’t the first beautiful woman to try and kill me;
and you certainly will not be the last”.
“You…you think I’m beautiful?” she enquired inquisitively, her tear-stained face rising to meet
Carlo’s rugged Mediterranean visage.
“The most beautiful woman I have ever met, senorita”, Carlo lied.
Their mouths met, a tangle of tongues and broken promises. Carlo felt that Elaine was like a
wild animal uncaged, her passion exploding after aeons of neglect. As he carried her gently to
the bed, he remembered his wife, Cariolina. She had also been so light and delicate, like a
beautiful desert flower.
As he entered her, she noticed Carlo was crying. “Why are you so sad?” she said, touching his
face gently with her fingertips, which smelled like roses.
“It has been so long since I felt happiness”, he replied, his hard barriers collapsing under the
weight of her passion. Their bodies became one, and time seemed to them to have stopped
entirely while they made love, very passionately.
When they had both finished, they lay next to each other, exhausted but satisfied. “I guess
you’ll have to take the apartment now”, she smirked.
“I guess so”, he replied.
It was a pity that he would have to kill her, thought Carlo, but to appropriately avenge Cariolina,
he had no choice.
