The dog barked as the man stared out the window on a dreary March afternoon. An overcast sky and the pounding rain had turned the flat dead earth into mush, leaving an ugly and depressed look. Hope was gone, crushed by a cruel winter. The promise of beauty…unfulfilled…at least for now.
Alex sighed and began to tear apart and clean his shiny snub nosed .44, neatly and carefully examining each and every piece. Next to his ancient cleaning kit lay a hand written message in pen that said “Henry.” Only Alex had an idea of what this cryptic letter meant, and he was unlikely to share the meaning with another.
Resembling his revolver he loaded it with six bullets, each one created in his garage. ‘If you value your life you make your own ammunition,’ he grumbled to himself. Proceeding to shoulder the weapon in a cracked leather holster located under his left arm, Alex flung on his jacket and headed for the door. Ignoring the sad appearance on his dog’s face, he stated “See yah later, Crabs.”