Check out last week’s Writing Prompt winner, David McIntyre! The original post and photo can be found here (LINK). Great job, David!

Here’s David’s story.

I felt the bullet snap past my ear and crashed down the embankment. I scrambled back to the culvert intent to crawl through and pulled a rotting pallet from the pipe.

“Won’t do you no good,” a man’s voice spoke. “I already tried.”

He sat up from the weeds and pushed his hood back to get a better look at me. Whatever color his clothes had been originally, they now matched his weathered skin.

“You got a name, old man?” I asked.

“You ain’t from around here,” he said.

“Just passing through.”

“Now that’s the truth,” he said. “If you was from around here, you’d know my name. This ain’t the kind of place you pass through, Son. It’s the kind you pass by.”

“Why is he shooting at us?”

“Cause he’s ignorant. He don’t know who you are.”

“Why’d he shoot at you?”

“Cause he’s ignorant, and he does.”

The man pulled a half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear and twisted its contents into a fresh paper, added some tobacco, and rolled a smoke. He then rolled another, and from the way he scraped the pouch, it was his last. He held it out to me.

“It’ll calm your nerves,” he said.

I don’t smoke but took it anyway to honor the gift. “Calm my nerves for what?”

He reached over is pack and passed me a Winchester .30-30. “You see the top of that Cherry tree from there? The one where my wife is buried?”

“I see it.”

“He’s under it.”

I edged forward to the road and slowly poked the rifle between the weeds. The man by the cherry tree jumped to his feet and aimed. We fired at the same time. The old man had stood to draw fire. I buried him with his wife.