The Choice

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: whistle, glass and cheap

The Choice

He walked into the Tavern like he owned the place.

Heads turned and then quickly looked away as everyone suddenly regained interest in something other than the muscle-bound eye patch that just sat at the bar.

Things would change as the night grew long. For now, the men needed some alone time. The place was crowded with isolation. Cheap whiskey served in dirty glasses was all the companionship they needed. It was a life worse than death. Some, a few really, chose death rather than face another shift in the mines. Most would drink, sleep and then shuffle back to work, starting the cycle anew. Such was life in the prison mines on the dark side of the moon.

He waited, drinking only water.

Eventually, a few thought they would have a go at the stranger.

He looked at them with contempt before finally saying, “Sit down.”

There was something about the way he said it that cleared their foggy minds. Two sat, while the third ran to notify the warden.

A few minutes later, a shotgun preceded the warden into the bar. He walked up to the stranger and placed the barrel under the big man’s chin, setting the stage for his interview.

“Who are you? You’re not one of my convicts. Are you a tourist?”

“Nope. Bounty Hunter.”

The warden let out a big laugh. “What’s a bounty hunter doing at a prison? Everyone here has already been caught.”

“I’m not here for them,” he said, nodding towards the now-rapt audience.

“Then who are you here for?” the sheriff said as he pulled back the trigger.

“I’m here for you. It’s time for you to choose.”

The next morning, the whistle sent men into the mines. The warden was not amongst them having chosen the path less travelled.

Word count 300