Gun fight
Jaun eyed off his nemesis from across a dusty Mexican road, hand poised and still cobra-like above the hilt of his holstered revolver. His opponent is weak, old, and slow and easy prey on this cold, sunny autumnal morning. A tumbleweed, like a giant tangle of spiderweb, rumbles past. The world seems to have stopped for just this moment. Still, the finger of doubt pokes gently at his mind for just the smallest moment... Did I leave the TV on? Jaun's eyes glaze over as he falls in a puff of fine russet dust, blood-forming a thick paste beneath him...