Reaper looked up at the sky. Dark clouds hid the pale moon. He watched as a single drop of water ran down from above and landed straight on his forehead, splashing into a million smaller droplets. Wind greeted him with the scent of wet Earth.

He felt alive.

A silent smile pursed his lips, his gaze still unfaltering at the sky. A faint 'tap tap' could be heard in the distance as the few drops turned to a drizzle. Each drop seemed colder than the last as they raced down his face.

His eyes caught an inhuman gleam as his smile broadened.

I am alive.

Energy surged through his body, and his left arm reflexively checked and rechecked the ammo he had on his belt behind the coat. His right index finger ran through the cylinder of his pistol. He counted five bullets.

As he loaded the last slot, the sky found freedom from his gaze, which now shifted to the board that read 'Brown's Habadashery'. It had two floors. A sole window on the second floor stood half-open. His right hand pulled the trigger. The gunshot cut through the pelting rain. The window slowly creaked open and a rifle clattered on the concrete floor below. The limp hand of a man hung out, a trail of blood slowly made its way to the closed windows below.

He refilled again as he stood just to the left of the haberdashery's door, it had only one. Soft violin music made its way to his ears. His back faced the wall and he stood in silence for a few seconds. He lightly kicked the door of the haberdashery open before a shotgun blew it to splinters.

The owner doesn't seem pleased.

Four seconds was how long it took to rip the door to wooden shreds, and to run out of ammunition. Without a moment's hesitation he entered, the pistol gleaming in his right hand. Five shots rang the end of those who held a weapon. The first one zipped straight at who he supposed was the owner, Mr. Brown, who stood directly in front of the door behind the counter. It ran through his skull and painted the glass behind it red before breaking it. The second bullet passed through the heart of his much taller assistant. The other three ran toward a trio of men on the table to the left with ammunition shells laying on it, hitting one in the forehead, another in the mouth, and the last in the hand. The violin player kept on playing, his head bowed eyes closed.

An uneasy silence boomed the now ownerless haberdashery. But only one thought crossed his mind, 'How did the fifth bullet miss?' With the doubt still alive in his mind he brandished the gun high in the air. "I still have a bullet left. Unless you're willing to taste it, hand over Silver-Tongue Gridford right now." He looked around as he spoke. To his left were about seven, including the violin player and a couple on a sofa by the fireplace. The red-bearded one, he assumed was Silver-Tongue. That side had a random assortment of items displayed haphazardly, proving 'Brown's Habadashery' didn't have much business most of the year. The right seemed to be the side of the kitchen, where there were about eight people, five armed men and three women, probably unarmed for none had belts. So if he took down those on the right, left would be easy. Next to him stood a sixteen-year old who seemed to be scared shitless by what had just transpired.

As expected, one of the men on the right tried to reach for his gun. A hole emerged through his nose as the sixth bullet found its purpose. A woman who stood with a ladle in her hand (he'd bet she was the dead man's wife) resorted to screaming in an intensely high pitch. Reaper decided to relieve the scared sixteen year old of his fears and held him by his collar. Shots were fired at Reaper who kicked a table forward and ducked behind it holding the boy as a shield. Bullets passed through him and Reaper let his limp body fall to the left.

He lit a match. When he threw down the table, he heard glass shattering.

"That'd better be some good alcohol," he muttered as he flung the match in front of the table. Chaos ensued as the right side lit up in flames. Most of the haberdashery was made of wood that still wasn't damp enough to hold off the fire. The time was enough for him to reload and steal the dead boy's gun. He edged the table to his left and that chaos led to the end of the soft violin. Reaper peaked from above the table and rained death upon six on the left, all except Silver-Tongue, who now stared blankly at his dead wife's disfigured face.

He was running low on bullets. The fiery mayhem on the right aided him as a knife, seemingly out of nowhere, killed the man closest to him. He swiftly passed behind another through the flames, and stabbed him through his neck. Reaper used the barrel of his gun to knock down one who tried to grab him from behind, and his right hand went behind his back and shot him.

Reaper's eyes widened. No one had come that close before.

He felt alive!

The wife with the ladle tried to tackle him, she never made it past two steps. Three more bullets were fired and then all stood still save the flames. Reaper stood erect again. He holstered his gun and moved calmly through his work. He passed the sixteen year old with multiple bullet holes through his body. Reaper came up to the man who he had missed. He was bleeding profusely, almost unconscious now. A groan escaped him.

"How did I ever miss on my fifth bullet?" Reaper stabbed him in the neck, ending his misery.

Then came the violinist. His hand was still on the string as his limp head lay on the violin. He seemed at peace, a content expression on his face.

Reaper made sure his boots made ample noise as he approached Silver-Tongue. The red bearded man had tears down his face, still looking at his wife.

The Reaper wasn't. His attention and aim was at the stairs that came down from the upper floor. As soon as his boots stopped, he heard what he had expected. Steps coming down at a fast rate. He shot, and a man screamed and toppled over the bannister. He shot again and the screams stopped, the man lay with a thud on the floor.

He then diverted his attention to Silver Tongue. "You know, Gridford?" He clicked his tongue, "I warned you. Didn't have to go through all this!"

Tears ran down Silver Tongue's face at a faster rate, "Lord, oh Lord! Spare me, oh God!"

His plump figure shook as his quivering hands joined in a final attempt to pray. "How did it ever come to this? I was mending my ways! I swear, oh Lord, it was going good!"

Reaper stayed silent and allowed the man his final words.

Silver-Tongue Gridford limped out from his chair and said, "I was mending my ways! I haven't killed anyone since six months. Can a man not ask for peace?" His head touched the wooden floorboard of the haberdashery. He didn't seem to be concerned about the fire that would engulf it soon.

"Why does the past chain me such?" He shouted.

As half the upper ceiling crashed down on the other side, Reaper said, "Say your last words, it's time. It will be pretty interesting to hear what a man named 'Silver-Tongue' would choose for his final words!"

Gridford looked at his dead wife again, "I am so sorry Hilda! I have been a bad man, a very bad man." Reaper put the gun to his head. The man prayed furiously, "Don't kill me, please dear sir! I will reward you well. I am definitely going to hell if you do."

Reaper paused. He retracted the gun. "Did you say hell?" He laughed softly at first and then burst out. Flames danced around him, and blood painted the floors. Gridford could only see his silhouette now.

Reaper said, "Look around you, old man!" We waved his gun around. "Do you remember anything before you were born? You won't remember anything after you die. This is all there is." The revolver pointed the floor.

"And as for hell. Just look around you." The once 'Brown's Habadashery' had lit up in crimson and yellow, and all hues that lay between the two, with the frame of Reaper blocking off the light. Silver-Tongue faced a fear he had never known before. This was all he had.

"I am Hell!" said Reaper, before emptying his gun on Silver-Tongue Gridford.