Write a western

His silvery grey eyes flicked from the smooth mirrored wall to the half full whiskey glasses on the small tables in the darkness. The fear in the smokey air was thick. One could count each salty droplet of sweat as it slid down the crevices next to his nose. The only sign that he was watchful was visible in his gloved finger, which curled more tightly around the steel trigger.

The shot rang out. His body coiled instinctively and he launched himself over the beer-soaked countertop

The shattering glass tinkled and sprayed diamond-like shards across the room. The piano player had not stopped, and the manic rag jigged it's circular pattern. The small man was playing as if in a trance. Somebody kicked a table over, and cards fluttered and winked in the air. Poker chips scattered and slid across the wooden floor.

He sat waiting in the darkness, his gun had not fired and he still had all six bullets weighing his pistol down. Slowly his gun slid into position from behind the bar. His spurred boots crunched on the broken glass.

I had seen enough. I whirled my red skirts into a bundle as I climbed the remaining steps. I fled over the knotted rag-rug and shut the panelled door on the noise and clamour. Now I could just make out the mechanical sounding piano player.