(no subject)

[fireinthehole]

It's been a while since Boyd has been outside. He doesn't like it. And while it'll take some work to get the crop back where it ought to be, it won't be as bad as it was when he found it. Probably.

And he won't be out in the forest, which is creepy.

But for now, he's over by the fire -- not sitting in a chair, standing by the window, looking out to the back, where he won't go. He's got a glass in his hand.

It's remarkably quiet.

Comments

[fireinthehole]

Boyd lowers the gun.

Only to chest level.

"I think I might."

He pulls the trigger.

[harlanite]

He staggers back against the window as blood begins to bloom, staining his shirt with its deadly flowering.

Bo stares down at himself and touches his hand to his chest. His fingers come away crimson, and he looks back up at his son... and smiles, wide and wild and warm with a pride Boyd's not seen from him in years.

"Looks like there's a little of me in you after all, son."

[fireinthehole]

And to Boyd's horror, he feels himself responding to that pride on his father's face -- but it's nothing he can't shut down, hard.

"We knew that, Daddy." He doesn't lower the gun. "You go on to hell, now."

[harlanite]

"Guess I'll go on to somewhere, anyway. I've seen what I came for. That'll do me just fine."



One second he's standing there, blood on his hands and his body both, smiling at his son.


In the next, the bullet hits the floor with a metallic tink.

[fireinthehole]

Expressionless, Boyd bends and picks up the bullet.

The bullet goes in his pocket. The gun goes in its place at the small of his back.

He drains his glass and leaves it there on the sill, and walks out the front door.