/lit/ - Literature

Marston crossed the border by the northernmost railroad and a superstitious paranoid dread filled him. He whipped his pistol out and pulled hard on the reigns, pushing down and away on the [shit the feet go into] while pressing the gun on the horse's head; staring savagely at the thing, daring it not to obey. Before the horse came to a stop his head was snapping around to take in his surroundings, beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck and forehead, still holding the gun to the horse's head; the tension in his muscles causing syringe scabs to pop from his arm, blood trickling down to his wrist.
>Nothing
Eyes still darting, scanning his surroundings - without thinking he put his bloodied wrist to his forehead and glanced at the sun, telling a prayer to himself
>Nothing
He begin to move his horse around slowly, head moving back and forth quickly; he was not a fool.
He heard the sound of a man approaching - his gun hand and face simultaneously snapping in the direction. A gunshot fired in his mind as soon as he caught sight of the man, a mexican
"WHO ARE YOU AND WHO SENT YOU!"
"Oy Amigo, I need a ride into town!"
"THERE'S NO ROADS HERE WHAT ARE YOU DO-"
He realized the mexican was running toward him, getting close
"STO-"
The word caught in his throat. The mexan ran up to him, frozen with terror as the man grabbed his clothes and yanked him from his mount. He closed his eyes and felt warm piss on thigh as he landed on the floor - fist clenched and gun still in hand.
He heard the mexican mount his horse and begin to ride away. He pat around his bellu as heMarston crossed the border by the northernmost railroad and a superstitious dread filled him. He whipped his pistol out and pulled hard on the reigns, pushing down and away on the [shit the feet go into] while pressing the gun on the horse's head; staring savagely at the thing, daring it not to obey. Before the horse came to a stop his head was snapping around to take in his surrounding, beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck and forehead, still holding the gun at his horse's in his head; the tension in his muscles causing syringe scabs to pop, blood trickling down his wrist.
>Nothing
Eyes still darting, scanning his surroundings he put his bloodied wrist to his forehead and glanced at the sun saying a prayer to himself
>Nothing
He begin to move his horse around slowly, head moving back and forth quickly; he was not a fool.