Outlaw.

Gun shots blare loudly.
One, two, three, four.
They match the beating of my heart.
Faster and faster.
The noise becomes more profound.
Deafening.
Raging.
Battle cries are torn out of the throats of my enemy.
My own voice rings loudly, mixing with the chaotic din.
Our challenges uttered in tandem.
We do not want an agreement.
We want blood.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
Red feathers atop brown horses.
Sounds of pain and then submission.
For surely there is peace in death.
The sickening red of blood.
There is no alternative.
There is only this.
Amidst all the strife there is absence.
Absence of humanity, of community.
We are intent on our goal. Invade and conquer.
Driven into a retreat they scamper.
Hooves clamor against the dry ground.
A final showdown.
Tension laces their expressions.
All is still.
One second, two, three, four.
Movement. Softer than battle, louder than silence.
A boy. Feeble, small.
Wrapped around a rifle, his last saving grace.
HOLD!
Confusion.
But places are held.
Nervous energy.
Fidgeting hands and fingers.
My own reaching out.
The boy’s delicate frame frozen.
I am both drawn to him and afraid.
Sparking deep brown eyes.
Innocent. Fearful.
You are your people’s final victory.
One moment passes. Two. Three. Four.
A blur of hazel skin.
Child’s hands.
They’re reaching back.