Darkness spread over the town of Eaglesmith, rippling over its sandy street in the long, tall form of a giant, stretching ten feet from wide brimmed hat to the toes of the Marshal’s high boots. It was noon. High noon. A time when vagrants and varmints and no’counts of all stripes lay away in barns and spring houses. Hiding from the law.
He stepped off the boardwalk into the street. His shadow stepped with him, flowing silently before to give warning: ‘Here comes Marshal Jared Jones with his big iron. Outlaws go home.’ Away in front, a mirage of water flickered over the plains. It looked like the ocean, but if you squinted right, you could see the hard dirt underneath, and the occasional spray of sage.

“Seven Shells”

About the story: Imagination may be all you need to survive.
Inspired by a Fred Eaglesmith song.

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