12 rounds to the chest
Written by Mowsy and Bryce
Disclaimer: I do not own the song, lyrics, or copyright to "Kiss Me, I'm Contagious" by From First To Last, the song which this story is based on.
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In a quiet saloon out west, in a small town where life slowly drug on, a band played at this saloon. They sung about a time long ago when the town wasn’t so quiet…
“I break hearts like the west was won, they call me the rattlesnake!
Baby, I look like an outlaw, like an outlaw baby!
Play poker all day at the saloon!
I’ll get you in the saddle soon, soon, oh yeah”
Time seemed to shift between the saloon, as half of it was thrown back in time. In the back, four men played poker. Chips all were going to one man, a shady man with a scar across his eye and a hat that hid his face.
“You cheating bastard…” one of the other men said to this shady character. The shady man replied with a quiet “I got your wife in the saddle and I rode her, and I rode her, And I Rode her.” And that was all that was said. The other man gritted his teeth, anger showed in his red face. Throwing the poker table over, he pulled out a six-shooter.
“we won't back down!
(Bang bang guns go bang)
from a fight!
(Bang bang guns go bang)
ninety paces west!
(Bang bang guns go bang)
at noon we draw to…
we draw to death!”
The band played, all of the band members watched the conflict in the back but were careful not to ruin their playing of the song. None of them asked or pondered why they were there.
“I’ll kill you, You stupid man. You think you’re hot shit, let’s see how hot you are. Ninety paces! I challenge you to a duel.”
The shady character looked up and smiled evilly. “I Won’t Back down from a fight.” The other man didn’t wince, he kept his red face and anger. “At noon we draw to-“
The shady character interrupted. “We draw to death.”
The saloon grew quiet except for the music.
“There was a man from way back west
(desperado ain't got shit on me)
he took 12 rounds straight to the chest!
(That’s two six shooters to be exact)
at night this town, remains awake…
(For they keep their eyes wide open)
in terror of the rattlesnake!”
Noon hit, and the two men took their ninety paces. Residents watched from windows, from inside the saloon, and some from cracks between barrels. As they walked, the challenger said aloud: “They call me Desperado.” But she shady character said nothing.
87… 88… 89…. 90 paces hit and both men spun around, drawing their six shooters. But little did the challenger notice that the scarred man had already drawn and fired. Pain filled the challenger’s chest and he died before he knew he had hit the ground. Twelve shots had torn away at him, and no one knew how.
“Desperado ain’t got shit on me.” The victor said, spinning his gun on his finger. A rattling noise was made until the gun was thrown back into the holster.
The victor was never seen again, but his legend lived on. They called him the rattlesnake, and his story was told over and over at saloons.
The saloon reverted back to its original state and the band finished playing, not questioning what had happened. For one of the band members, the singer to be exact had a scar over his eye.
End
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Submission Name: 12 Shots to the chest
