A Five Sentence Fiction
Thick, prairie-yellow dust floated all around them, even clouding the view a passenger in the forward seat of this Butterfield stage had of his bone-rattled fellow traveler sitting knee-to-knee with him in the opposite seat.
“You know, friend,” the thick-set man who called himself Grimes said from that seat beneath the driver and guard, “I always thought these Kansas plains were supposed to be dead flat, and they’re anything but, and I hoped we’d be able to see anything coming after us from miles and miles away…you know, like a Cheyenne raiding party.”
“No sir,” said Lucius Sherwood, a railroad accountant from Chicago, “besides being damned bumpy and rutted, they kinda roll likes waves on Lake Michigan or for sure the ocean, and any scoundrels could hide beneath the swells anywhere around us and you’d never see them until they were right on top of you…not hardly limitless views.”
Grimes coughed, wiped his mouth and eyes with the once-clean lacy handkerchief he’d bought in Kansas City for his wife in Denver, strained to see any movement out along the seemingly table-flat horizon, and said, “I’m sure glad these three soldier boys from Fort Wallace happened along to see us to their station.”
Sherwood took a pull from the passenger canteen, nodded and said, “Me, too…not a thing to worry about…Seventh Cavalry boys…tough as old leather and been out here since the War…know the plains like their own beds,” just as three riderless horses bolted past his side of the coach, one with an arrow sticking from its right haunch.
Here’s a Five Sentence Fiction using Lillie McFerrin’s prompt word LIMITLESS.