send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did - Billy
GLIMPSES OF THE PAST
@sorsrenuo
You ever see it cominโ? Betrayal, I mean. I sure didnโt. Not that day, not like that. Funny thing is, I always figured Iโd meet my end in a blaze of glory - guns drawn, lead flyin', the whole damn West watching in awe. But insteadโฆ it was a quiet night in Fort Sumner. No duel, no justice, just a bullet I didnโt even see cominโ.
The air was heavy in Fort Sumner that night, sticky with the kind of tension that made even the stars seem dim. Billy walked in with his usual unmatched swagger, but there was something different about him. Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at his gut, or maybe it was the exhaustion of always looking over his shoulder. He hadnโt eaten for hours, and Pete Maxwellโs place seemed like a good enough stop - quiet, familiar. Safe.
I trusted Pete, used to think that guy and I were thick as thieves. Thatโs why I felt safe enough to stop by his place that night, lookinโ for some grub. But trustโฆ itโs a dangerous thing to hand out too freely. Shouldโve known better by then.
Billy stepped into the dimly lit house, his boots scraping against the worn wooden floor. The room felt colder than it shouldโve, the kind of chill that crawls up your spine and whispers that something ainโt right. Pete was sittinโ there, slumped in his chair like he was waiting for something - or someone.
You ever get that feeling in your gut? That little twist that tells 'ya to turn around, to walk right back out that door? I ignored it. Hunger makes a man reckless, stupid even. And Peteโฆ well, Pete couldnโt even meet my eyes. Shouldโa been my first clue. But hell, I was tired. Tired of running, tired of fightinโ.
Pete mumbled something under his breath, his voice low and shaky, nervous. Billy leaned closer, frowning as he tried to make sense of the words. It was then that he caught the sound - a faint creak of wood, the kind of sound made only by a third party. His hand hovered near his revolver, gut screaming at him to draw or duck, but before he could -
The crack o' that revolver - it was like the air itself split apart. One second, Iโm standinโ there, and the next, thereโs this burninโ pain in my chest, like my whole body was bein' torched from the inside out. My legs gave out before I even knew what hit me, and I hit the ground hard. Blood - my blood - was everywhere, warm, soakinโ into the wooden floor. And all I could think wasโฆ it ainโt s'posed to end like this.
Billy struggled to lift his head, his vision swirling as the figure who shot stepped forward. Pat Garrettโs face came into focus, the familiar lines of his old friend now twisted with something cold. There wasnโt hate in Garrettโs eyes, but there wasnโt regret either - just a quiet resignation, like a man whoโd made his peace with his choices. Such was the life of the good Sheriff.
"Sorry, Henry,"
Pete's voice cut through the ringing in Billy's ears, and his real name was being used. Unlike Pat, the sheriff who had literally made it his life's mission to hunt him down and bring an end to his deeds, Pete was smilin'. Smilin' like his whole damn life just turned around.
"'yer just worth too much if you're dead than you would be alive."
The betrayal hit harder than the bullet, sharper than any blade. Peteโs smile was slick, snake-like. It made Billyโs stomach churn more than the blood pooling beneath him. But he was too tired to muster a response, and his vision was already starting to fade. The last thing he could see now was the figure of Sheriff Garrett, coming to confirm the death of Billy the Kid. That's when Billy's head thumped back down onto the floor beneath him, a soft thud acting as his last breath.
Funny thing is, I donโt even hate him for it. Ainโt that somethinโ? A man puts a bullet in you, and all you can feel is this hollow ache, thisโฆ sadness. Pat didnโt pull that trigger outta hate. He did it โcause he thought it was the right thing to do. And maybe thatโs what makes it worse.
And thatโs it. No grand finale, no legendary duel. Just a kid lyinโ on a wood floor, wonderinโ if anyoneโll remember him for more than the price on his head. Wonderin' if his ma would be proud; but who was he kidding? She wouldn't be. She didn't want it to be like this for him.
