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Ghastly screams haunt the once peaceful town of Gunsmoke. Small dust storms ravage the street as women and children run inside, locking the doors. The men stay away from the two soul gunslingers who stand parallel from each other. No other sounds are heard other than the ghostly howls of the wind.

Nimble fingers bend in readiness near the etched ivory handle. Eye lids cast at half-mast to shade the eyes from the intoxicating sun. Every nerve ending shaking with anticipation.

The holster becomes empty, the hammer is cocked and the trigger is pulled... another scream and everything is engulfed in a chocking haze of smoke.

A loud knocking is heard, then a yell and finally, a hollow thud. A young man comes in with a quiet, polite voice. He takes his hat off respectfully and digs through his small bag. “Miss Annie? I have mail for you today. I’ll just lay it on your desk here.” As he begins to walk out, he hears a grunt and looks back to see a body slumping against the wall, a bottle of whiskey clasped in the tan hand. “Miss Annie...” John Crocker says with a low sigh as he helps the 57-year old retired actress up. Miss Annie has lived in her own world after she retired. Only John is able to talk to her and help her. Other than that... you’re lucky if she doesn’t shoot you for only looking her way.

John Crocker is the mail boy who helps Miss Annie with her chores at times, along with other things. He’s a tall, lanky boy with combed to perfection light brown hair and hazel eyes. Nice and naïve, he’s a good boy, a mama’s boy. But he still helps out whenever he can.

Miss Annie likes the kid, but hates to admit when he’s right... he usually is. Miss Annie has dark, curly, red-brown hair with sharp, hallow blue eyes which have a silver rim floating around them.

Standing up with a stagger, she turns her head and burps loudly then leans against the wall again.

“You’ve got to stop with all this drinking, Miss Annie.”

“Shut up kid. I live how I want. No punk is gonna tell me what to do.”

“Yes Miss Annie.”

Poor John sits down in a chair as Miss Annie sits across from him, beginning to reminisce about the old days. She begins to tell him, once again, about the series she stared in. About an hour later, he left, worn out from the stories that he almost knows by heart by now.

He lingers around her home where nobody but John bothers her. She takes another slug of her whiskey and wipes the burning liquid from her lips. Thinking back, she remembers her dream. She’s been having this same dream for sometime now and it was beginning to worry her. The dream always stops after the gunshots, never before, never after.

The dreams keep going for another week. Every time she wakes up, she either falls out of the bed or wakes up with a scream in a cold sweat. What do they mean? Are these dreams from one of the episodes in her old show? No, they were never this real.

She picks up her shining Colt 45 revolver and looks it over quietly, remembering her younger days. Not only on screen but in real life, she was the fastest shot in the west. But over the years, her arthritis has gotten the best of her and she no longer is the Gun-toting gunslinger whom most feared anymore.

Sitting down, her silver and gold revolver by her side, she picks up the newspaper and begins to read leisurely. Taking a drink of coffee, she reads about a man who escaped from prison only two weeks ago. The small wanted poster printed in the newspaper is as follows:

Bad-eye Bart. Robber, notorious liar, and cold-blooded murderer. Murder count: 37. Including eight women and four children.

Looking at the black and white picture provided, he’s a gruff man with a sharp face, cold steel eyes, matted black hair and a definite five o’clock shadow.

Just as she gets done reading his profile, she hears loud screams outside and a gunfire. Jumping up and running to her window, she sees a man walking down the street, his gun tossed over his head and setting off two more air splitting bullets.

“Not here... not in my town!” She says to herself through gritted teeth.

After shoving on her boots and wide-brimmed Stetson, she runs outside, just in time to see everybody else running back in. The men stay outside, as if to protect the women and children within the buildings.

“Who the hell are you!?” Screams the intruder.

Annie stays silent, wondering where the Sheriff is. She soon gets her answer. With her curious eyes wondering around the street, she finds his lifeless body crumpled in a bloody mess upon the porch of the sheriff’s office. She can hear John the mail boy screaming at her from inside the barber shop. She can hear him telling her that this isn’t the show anymore. It’s real. These are real guns, not props. Her concentration on the kid breaks when she hears the intruder scream at her again, asking who she is.

“The real question is, who are you? And why are you here?”

She listens to his burly and sarcastic laugh. “How dare you not know me! I’m Bad-eye Bart! The roughest, toughest, and fastest shot to ever cross these parts! And I tend to prove that to you.” He said with an insidious smirk, his brown teeth showing years of wear and tear as they constantly sit upon a good portion of chaw.

“And I intend to prove you wrong.” She says as she pulls her Stetson down just a smidge and sets her hand beside her holster. As she watches him do the same, her eyes widen in realization. This... this is just like her dream. But her dream never showed the out-come. For the first time, her knees began to knock, her body shivers in fright. Could she possibly die in this one scene?

Another ear-shattering scream is heard as the guns are shot off. After the smoke clears the towns people walk out quietly, suspiciously. Mumbles are heard and then, great cheering. Running over to Miss Annie, a couple men lift her up on their shoulders. With a smile, she blows the smoke from the end of the barrel and shoves her trusty gold and silver Colt 45 back in it’s leather holster. “Still got it.” She says to herself, looking down at the now lifeless Bad-eye Bart. Chanting her name, they give her the now empty position of sheriff to tie up the day.

This may not have been an episode where the good guy is always the fastest, but for once, she’s happy that it isn’t. This proves that she was and still is fastest gun in the west.