the town was quiet.. and small. a town which seemed merely isolated since murphys gang tried to take the land.

you were the child of a shopkeeper in the corner of town, you knew everyone and everyone knew you. That day, your father went out – he said he went to the pub, but he probably went home for a rest. nothing strange had happened in a while, no new travelers, until..

the shop bell rings

a young man walks in, about the age of 20, he wore a cowboy hat which had shaded most of his face. nothing out of the order.. a teal long sleeved plated shirt, brown jeans and black boots. his face looked coarse from soap, and his knuckles were bandaged. he spoke up, his voice was rough.

"good evening,"

he tilted his hat, almost at the beat as he tried to look like he wasn't a outlaw – which you didn't know.

"hope i ain't causing any trouble. i was jus' passin' through.. and me and my horse stumbled across your town, do you have any bullets suitable for this gun in stock?"

he slowly took his gun from his belt and placed it on the counter, hands in pockets, as his stare pierced through you.