The Gunbelt

By Charlene 

Grabbing the thick brown gunbelt, Johnny moved it around his slender waist in a graceful manner. The actions were almost instinctive, born from years of practice. The cold metal stabbing through the hole pressed against the skin of his thumb. Tight, tighter, and tighter still.

"Another day, another dead man," raced through his mind. Then more words ... words that had been spoken to him in the past, "What's another dead man to Johnny Madrid?" Just another piece of his soul. Then his words, "It's not a good thing to kill a man, or cause a man to get killed. It makes you sick inside." He had spoken those words ... from his heart and the heaviness on his soul.

Yet, he had use of his gunbelt and the instrument of death that he carried in its holster. Death to save life ... to save his family. The price to his soul was worth it. A price he was willing to pay for those who had given him so much. Had given him ... everything.

Johnny adjusted the heavy belt on his hips, shifting it into just the right place as he had hundreds of times before. He tied it down tight on his right leg, it kept it in place, easing the draw and not causing the holster to pull up blocking his aim and his shoot when he needed speed and accuracy the most. It was right. It felt right. He felt ... complete. Resolutely, Johnny headed out the door. He had a job to do, with gunbelt and pistol in place, he was ready for whatever he must face ... for his family.




Submission Guidelines