Faith and a .45

faith2

  “There are only two things you can rely on in this world, kid,” she said, the ochre of her eyes dancing and glistening with the thrill of the fight. She bounced on her heels, her dukes up against her chest. She jabbed the air twice with the right and once with the left with no intention of making contact, more of a taunt than anything. She was enjoying herself. He was long past spent but she was just hitting her second wind.

  “What’s that then, Faith?” he managed between gasps for air. Before he’d finished speaking she saw her opportunity and darted forwards, closing the gap between them in a second, and brought a balled fist up through his defences and into his solar plexus. The dense cluster of nerves deep inside rippled with the impact, his visceral functions cut out completely, and he fell to his knees heaving for breath. 

  “One,” she said, grinning and dancing around his crippled form, kicking clouds of dusty dirt into the air as she did so, “I am superior. Forever.”

  He grit his teeth. God damn her, but she was right. He loved his sister, but she knew exactly how to be a real bitch

  “Second,” she continued, “is Bread and Butter”

  “What?” he managed to choke, looking up at her. She jabbed with her left fist.

  “Bread.”

  She jabbed with her right.

  “Butter.”

  He stared at her for a while, unsure where she was going with this.

  “These,” she said, sparring with air, the debris and dust and tiny little creatures that filled it illuminated by the halogen far above, “are the only things you can rely on out here. They’ll never run out of ammo. They’ll never break. And they pack one hell of a punch-“ with this she winked, and despite the pain and condescension, he couldn’t help but smile. “What I’m trying to say, little brother, is that before I even let you touch the forty-five, you’re going to have to show me that Bread and Butter are ready to dance.”

  She moved to the wager table and picked up her pistol, caressing it so briefly he would have missed it had he not known to look for it, before she slipped it back into the back of her jeans. She left the money he’d lay down earlier where it was, pretending she’d forgotten.

  “Not today, kid,” she said, making her way back towards the house, “not today.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE:
The title Faith and a .45 is the name of a videogame that looks set to be canned in the near future. Although promising, the developer can’t find a publisher willing to put it out on the market and as such the project has been delayed indefinitely. Only time will tell if it ever sees the light of day, but for now I’ve stolen the name for my own nefarious needs. It would be a crime to let an amazing title like that go to waste. Just to be clear, the storyline of my own Faith and her trusty sidearm share no similarities to that of the bare-bones plot that has been revealed for the to-be-or-not-to-be game.

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~ by Joseph Blame on August 5, 2010.

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