Word Count: 150
The Saloon was empty when John entered. The pool table sat untouched, the little balls just sitting with out purpose where they’d last been.
Sitting down at the bar, John listened for the slightest hint of movement. He heard nothing.
“What can I get you?” a man asked, appearing silently. He wore black, like an undertaker.
“Just water,” John said. “Where is everyone?”
“Hard to say, exactly. If one were inclined to dramatics, they might say they’ve all been banished to hell.” He grinned and put down John’s glass of water. “But I ain’t inclined to dramatics.”
John looked back to see six figures in black guarding the doors. Silver pistols glistened on their belts.
“Why don’t I take you to meet them?” the man asked. “Don’t bother resisting. You ain’t got a gun.”
John smiled. “Never needed one.”
The man became something else, but John was ready for him.
This is my response to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. A big thanks to Etol Bagam for providing the photo and to Priceless Joy for running the challenge.