A wet tombstone.
A fresh grave.
And one man standing alone at the edge of it.
A brown rectangle stains a field of green on the outskirts of town. The grass had yet to grow on top of the grave, the steady downfall of pouring rain had made a muddy pool at the foot of the grave. Through this he saw his reflection, as if he were starring into his own grave, his own lifeless body that lied beneath the ground which was now starring back at him. His soulless eyes pierced the water, dirt, and coffin. Starring into the abyss, he saw his own eyes stare back.
The coffin was obviously empty, the body never found. Still a memorial was indeed in order, it's not everyday that....
The silence was abruptly interrupted. The gleaming tombstone now became a shield as it absorbed automatic gunfire. A cold back sat against a cold stone waiting for the time to break. Pieces of rock and gravel ricocheted as the tombstones edges were blown away. From the sound and angel of the fire he quickly knew there were only two shooters.
"Insulting." he muttered as he ashed his cigar atop his own grave.
He reached his steel hands inside his coat pocket and drew his weapon. An old dirty pistol, a Makarov that could be easily concealed......time had depleted his resources and connections in this town. Just getting to this point without being noticed had been a challenge. Kind of difficult when you're name and face have been plastered on wanted posters on every street corner and on every billboard for the past 8 years. Some still remained within the woodwork of the city, operating their own rackets and laying low. The digital age had gone public, increased police surveillance, hackable camera phones with face recognition programs that instantly altered the presence of any listed individual. Some had gone to great lengths to hide, even altering their face with surgery. A group that had once shinned in the sun with upheld fists now hid in the dark with outstretched palms.......the times had changed.
His thoughts were again interrupted as a piece of rock blew away from his left ear.
He did not like being interrupted.
A brief pause as one shooter had stopped to reload. He seized his chance. Spinning to his right he pushed off his leg and slid through the mud on his knee. Fate seemed to have favored him. At this moment a lightening bolt had pierced the sky illuminating the dark hillside. For this brief instant he had seen everything, time had stood still. Two men in black stood aside a hummer, one with his head down still fumbling to reload his weapon, the other just had a stupid grimaced look on his face as he tried to locate his target. Again in this brief instant he cracked a smirk, his brain operating at the speed of the lightening.
The times had changed, but he remained the same.
Two distinct shots precluded silence. He holstered his sidearm as he rose to his feet, adjusting his hat to cover his eyes from the rain. He placed his cigar atop the tombstone and began to walk. The hummers new paint job was beginning to wash away as blood mixed with water and dripped off the side. Without thought or concern he collected their weapons and ammo throwing them in the trunk. Climbing in the driver seat he looked back at his grave with a smile. His first day back and he had felt at home. He would have to be cautious, the city had a different ruler, a different done. He would have to be a drifter for a while, a nameless and faceless specter. Then again, he was always used to being a Ghost.............