365 Writing


The trail was fresh. Lynch dismounted his horse and examined the blood on the forest floor. That damn thief was going to pay.  He thought to himself. Remounting his horse, he took off again at a steady pace. The thief had left an easy enough trail to follow. He must have really injured himself when he jumped from the train.

After only a moment Lynch found him. The boy was curled up under the base of a tree blood covered his lower body, and Lynch could clearly see the bone sticking out of the top off his leg. He thought he could even hear crying.

“Get up you little bitch,” Lynch said drawing his gun.

“I’m sorry mister.” The thief whimpered. “I just joined up with my friends, we didn’t know rightly what we be doing.”

“Tough. Actions have consequences. Now, look at me.”

The boy looked up, tears streamed down his dirty face. “Please mister, I’m sorry, I didn’t think it through.”

“They never do. That don’t change the fact that you took it. Now give it back, and I might not shoot you here.” Lynch responded, gesturing with his gun.

The boy reached inside his coat and pulled out a gold crucifix, inlaid with gems. He made to toss it to Lynch, but it fell short. Growling to himself Lynch dismounted and reached down to pick it up. He wasn’t careful enough though, with a sudden BANG! He fell dead, a bullet hole through his head.

The boy put down the smoking gun and began to whisper Latin words under his breath while holding his leg stable. Slowly the bone receded into his leg and snapped back into place, finally, the hole closed and with a crack of pain it rejoined, unbroken.

He gritted his teeth and stood on the freshly healed leg and walked over to Lynch’s body and picked up the cross. “There ain’t be no justice in people like you.” He spat. Grabbing the reins of Lynch’s horse he mounted and was on his way.