Eight Seconds

Author: Zoe_Jayne

rating: G

Words: 1000

Disclaimer: Joss is my Master now, so thanks for letting me play in your sandbox, luv.

Beta: The ever wonderful Rinny and Miz Serra

"There's a feelin', boy," the veteran hand said, "about being right there at the top of a jump tht you know would have throwed most boys off. You're sittin' there with that handle in your hand, both feet pulled up to the riggin', looking down at the neck, and waiting for the jerk and snatch to hit ya. And right then, for one extremely small fraction of a second, everything is perfect. ou think you could fly right then. Free as a bird because, when everything is against ya, you're in control. For just that moment."

He knew that as he fired his pistol that he had made the worst shot of his life. He didn’t even bother to watch to see what happened, and he cursed violently under his breath, heard the sound of bullet hitting the roof, and sat back. The bricks shattered, sending a rust hued hail of chips and dust all over him.The chimney, his shield, would not last long and the parapet was all but destroyed. But then the shooting stopped as soon as it had come; the Purplebelly apparently didn't want to waste ammunition or maybe he just didn't know how weak the rooftop was. Still, Malcolm Reynolds contemplated surrender just to save himself the agonizing wait leading up to his imminent death.

"The next second, your back in the middle of that ride again. Arm gets jerked. Head snaps back. You try to tuck yer chin and drive your feet to the front. If you're lucky and good enough, you feel 'em catch the horse's neck, way out there somewhere just about the time your chin hits the chest and you suck your but back on the riggin'. An' then, you get another one of those fleeting moments when everything seems just right. And then it starts all over again for another jump. Jump after jump."

Mal was tired. He'd been in the firefight all night. That Purplebelly was probably camping out with an MRE in his hand. Nibbl