35 or 40, Sundown/Mad Dog ;;;
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
[id: text reading "Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story."]
"What's the promise I made to you, kid?" Mad Dog says, standing ten paces away, his back turned.
"We'd play this game forever," Sundown replies, shoulders square, face hard lines.
"Any time," Mad Dog says, drawing his sword, face covered by his mask.
"Any place," Sundown says, lance aiming for his heart.
"As anyone," Mad Dog says, sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking her cigarette.
"'Til death do us part," Sundown says, smiling as he lifts the bridal veil.
"And parting is such sweet sorrow," Mad Dog says, standing over Sundown's corpse, the hand holding his revolver trembling.
"Just how do you think this ends, Mad Dog?" says Sundown's corpse.
"Well. That's for me to decide, isn't it?" says Mad Dog's corpse.
"Afraid not," says Sundown to it, voice crystal clear from the high definition screen.
"The story always ends the same?" says Mad Dog, aiming his revolver at himself. "Mite unsatisfying, that."
"Then close the book," says Sundown, a tinny voice in Mad Dog's ear.
"What kind of ending's that?" says Mad Dog, aiming slightly to her left, shooting out the window.
"What you wanted," says Sundown's corpse, to Mad Dog's, surrounded by a thousand bulletholes.
"You never did know what I want," says Mad Dog, as the bus doors close behind him.
"Tell me then," says Sundown, caressing Mad Dog's cheek.
"To be together," says Mad Dog's corpse, to Sundown's, their hands clasped together.
"Ain't gonna happen," says Sundown, as his head is placed in the noose.
"You know I ain't one to take no for an answer," says Mad Dog, on one knee.
"Never satisfied," replies Sundown, on both.
"We belong together," growls Mad Dog, baring his teeth.
"Ever heard of too much of a good thing, Mad Dog?" says Sundown, holding Mad Dog against him as the water rises.
"We belong together," Mad Dog insists, placing flowers on Sundown's grave.
"Like a termite in the rafters," says Sundown, watching the mouse pass into the kitchen.
"We complete each other," Mad Dog says, standing at the edge of the waterfall, Sundown's collar in his hands.
"Like a nail in a coffin," says Sundown, ten inches away, his back turned.
"Like an illness," agrees Mad Dog, less than an inch away, facing the same direction.
"You'll be the death of me," sighs Sundown, pulling away from the kiss.
"That's the idea," says Mad Dog, pulling the trigger.