The truth comes to those who wait. I’ve been writing under different pseudonyms everyday for the past three months and I guess it’s time to reveal the truth. I’m Stephen King. This blog has been an experiment in branching out into something new. As a writer of fiction, it’s incumbent upon me to explore the outer reaches of every style know to the collective imagination. So without further ado, here’s today’s story…

Gun Shoe Under the Breakfast Table

     All four of them were seated around the table. Louis poured the dregs of Martha’s cereal into his coffee mug and he shot back the mix. Matt made a face.
     “Save them funny faces for the circus,” Louis muttered ,“ that way you might at least get some money from it.” Louis was a hard man and his voice was heavy and raspy as if it had come out of a creek of stones. His two sons always made sure to watch him with wide-open eyes. To watch out.
     “You sure is smart, Louis. You know how to put two things together and make something else come of it. That’s not born information. That’s something that comes from smarts. Hard worked for smarts. Your Daddy can learn you boys something good. He’s always coming up with this or that or something that ain’t never before been given to this world. He’s what you call an original.”
     “Shut up.”
     They were a hard family. There was no softness in any of them. Each and everyone of them had pistols strapped beneath the table pointing at one another. Tommy, the younger brother, had a leg up on the rest. He had a gun strapped to the bottom of his shoe.  He was bound for greatness.
   They were a Western Family.

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