Arrant Nonsense

Yeah. Have some Cowboy!Sleeping Beauty.

I fired again, more steady this time, and a splash of crimson exploded from his chest. The fire guttered out, and he slumped in his saddle, his lips moving. I couldn't quite hear what he said, but he fell to the ground in a boneless heap, and his compadres left on the run. Jock tail-wagged back to me, well-pleased with his day's work.

I jumped out of my saddle and trotted over to the rustler. Bright blood stained his lips, and his expression was unbelieving. "You..." he rasped. He was dying. Can't say I was either surprised or upset.

"Told you. We don't take kindly to rustlers in these parts."

"Sleep...forever. And may all your dreams...be terrifying." He exhaled one last time, and I thought something insubstantial and shrieking rose from his body and flew away.

"Well, what the hell," I muttered.

"Sam! Sam!" A tiny winged form hovered in front of my nose. Daneen. "We have to get you home. Right now!"

"Why? What's the matter?"

"That was a death curse! You must get home before the sun goes down. I might be able to--" She stopped and gulped. "But not out here. I'm a house fairy--my powers outdoors are weak."

"A death...what?" Events were catching up with me, and the shakes suddenly gripped me like an ague. The rustler had shot fire at me with his bare hands. Daneen was one thing; I was used to her. This was quite different.

The good news is that it's entirely possible that my Writing Buddy gave me something to hang my hat on last night. The bad news is that I'm not sure I can do the idea justice. I guess we'll see. I cracked a thousand words on it yesterday.

And, with abject apologies to John Denver:

Rejections...in my email...make me eat worms
Rejections...in my inbox...make me sigh
Rejections...almost always...look so ugly
Rejections...almost always...make me cry.

I know, I know. Cry moar, grow a thicker skin, yadda yadda. Is okay. Really. I flipped it to a (new) place that pays more. We shall see.