(Prompt photo by Maia_Eli on Unsplash.com)

The sun was at its highest when Colby Ryan swung open the creaky batwing doors of the Kick 'N ' Bucket Saloon. His entrance brought with it the harsh light of day, slicing the hazy shadows in much the same way his boots, on the old wood, cut through the perpetual silence.

He made his way to the bar, tipping his hat at a few of the locals. A courteous gesture, to be sure, but one just as likely to get a man hung. Most turned away from him, rewarding his presence with a cold shoulder. These men, with their dark eyes and skin like leather, would give him neither a nod nor a smile.

"Take a seat, stranger," I bid him, though I'd known him his entire life. These folk here don't need to know more about me than they already do. "I'll pour you somethin' warm to keep your troubles at bay."

Choosing to stand, Colby, leaned against the bar, taking in the scene around him. His glance lingered on the brass spittoon a few feet from where he stood, and the bull's horns mounted above the door he had just entered. He scanned the row of whisky bottles lined neatly across the back shelf behind me and then turned his eyes to the old piano in the corner.

"What's your poison, kid," I tried again. "These folk won't trust a man who doesn't kick back a few."

A small smile spread across Colby's lips, one of mischief and wonder. He slapped the bar with his right hand. "A round for the bar, my good man, and the chance to liven up this place with a song."

Colby reached across the bar and took my hand, forcing it open to accept a small pile of coins. I gave him a small nod and motioned to the piano. "It's your life, cowboy."He grinned at me, the kid did, with a mouth full of straight, white chompers. He was not from around here, that was certain. His posture was too straight and his duster too clean.He took a seat in front of the old keys and gently began to stroke the ivory. His touch lingered for just a moment, but it was in those few seconds that the look about him changed. He was no longer the chipper kid he was at the bar. The kid who nodded to the patrons sitting behind him as he took in the room like a stage set for a show. No, no. Now he had the look of a man who was cursed to grow old before his time.

"If your gonna stand there, kid, then you might as well play us somethin," grunted a hard-faced man from the corner of the room. "Nothin' too dull, this ain't a funeral procession. Least not yet."

Colby turned and with a smile obliged the request. His repertoire was extensive, selecting songs most in this old saloon had never even heard of. I figured he was enjoying himself, making the bar come alive and tap their toes in time to the tune.

I was wrong.

The songs he played quickly took on a deep melancholy. And the longing I saw in his eyes just moments before resonated in his touch.

"Hey boy, I told yer not to play anything depressing," snapped the man hidden in the shadows. He stood broad-legged where he was and barked at the kid. "This ain't no parlour for women. Play something else."

Colby's stopped playing, and the bar fell silent around him. Without looking up, he spoke in barely more than a whisper. "Life has taken all my choices away, sir. All but this last one. I will play what I choose to play until the last note is done."

The man tipped his hat back and flicked the side of his duster around his hip revealing the gleam of a holstered pistol. "You're wrong, boy. You ain't got no choices left now."

Heavy boots and the rattle of spurs stomped across the bar, and a calloused hand reached for the scruff of Colby's neck. He dragged the kid outside and with a heartless lob, Colby landed on the dusty road with a groan and a thud.

The saloon emptied fast. The clatter and screech of scraping chairs and scuffing boots fill the bar as men rush out to see the show. Standing in the doorframe, I dread to watch but can't look away. "Fight back, kid," I urged under my breath. "Fight till you hear that bell tolling."

"Don't be yellow boy," The man pulled Colby to his feet. "You wanna die on your knees in the dirt?"

Colby found his balance and stood tall in the red rays of the setting sun. His shadow casting a long, lean silhouette down the centre of the store-lined road. "Just get it over with," he mumbled.

The man laughed deep and hard, and in the blink of an eye he had his pistol out and discharged in Colby's direction. Colby managed to anticipate the attack and in the same gliding movement both turned to the side and fired their weapons.

"Argh! Son of a whore," the man yelled as Colby's shot hit his left shoulder. He grabbed at the wound and tumbled backwards, landing on his backside. He lifted his dirty finger and pointed it at Colby. "You're a dead man now."

Colby coughed and covered his mouth as the wind picked up and blew the dust in his direction. He coughed again, this time in a handkerchief, and as he put the small square of fabric back in his pocket, I caught the distinct glimpse of red on white.

"What? You got nothing to say, dead man?" the gruff man taunted.

Colby turned his back on his opponent. His gaze captured by the streaks of orange and yellow in the sky. The crowd around him turned silent. Not a word was muttered, nor the rustle of a woman's skirt was heard. The wind held its breath and Colby, except for an odd cough, stood still, his eyes never wavering from the sky.

"Turn and face me, boy," the man yelled after a time. His arm was in a bad way, but not a soul dare help him. "Turn and face your opponent."

Colby shifted from foot to foot but never showed his face to the man. "I'm done facing you. It's time to look to the sk-"

The shot was fired and Colby's final word caught in his throat. And with a final splutter of blood he fell upon the warm, dusty road. His blood seeped out in a thick pool around him, staining the ground red.

The crowd, shocked, drew in a deep breath and stared at the place Colby was just standing, before gathering their wits and returning to their drinks. I flicked the cloth, still in my hand from cleaning the bar, over my shoulder and made my way to the dying boy in the street. The resonating sound of the bullet that took Colby's life lingered longer than it should have. It was a hollow sound that morphed into a beeping noise.

Beep...

I crouched down beside Colby and turned him on his back. He did not deserve to die face down in the dirt.

Beep...

He didn't deserve to die, period.

Beep...

At least he went out in his terms.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep...

The crimson light flashed white and bright around us, bringing us out of the Western and back to the present. My eyes squeezed tight against the harsh glare. As the dusty, old town was replaced with a room. Sterile, crisp and sombre. Its white sheets, white walls and tiled floors bland and lifeless.

I reached over and grasped at my son's hand. Lying in the bed, he was starting to feel cold. Cold and distance, like he had over the past few months. The cancer had killed his spirit months before it was meant to kill his body.

And now it never would.

Colby had seen to it that he would end his life on his terms. He would not let this horrible disease, that had turned a passionate, young man into a cripple, be the death of him.

I clutched at his arm with my fingers and placed my forehead down on his palm. A lone tear slipped down my cheek and landed on the soft sheets. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was going to explore the world and meet someone and be happy. He was going to live.

A small shuffle reminded me that I was not alone. I suppressed a sniffle but as I did more tears leaked out. Composure be damned.

A nurse stood by the bed. Her round face held no emotion as she reached up and switched off the monitors and machine. In an instant, the beeping stopped. She made her way to the head of the bed and removed the VR goggles from Colby's eyes. Then she reached over and unclasped the pair I had dangling around my neck. "Do you know why he chose the Western scenario?"

I shook my head.

"I'm sure Colby had his reasons."

"There is no reason behind any of this," I snapped as I gestured at my son's body.

The nurse nodded, and she smoothed out the front of her scrubs. She held my eye for longer than I would have liked. "The procedure was smooth, sir. Your son's departure was painless."My eyes narrowed at the nurse. That is the comfort that this woman thinks I want to hear? "Life dealt him a poor hand. He should never have been here."

"Yes sir," the nurse whispered. "But at least this way Master Colby got to pick his poison."