Her voice is soft: "Sweetheart, come.
You look like you're in need of some company."
She takes my hand, stroking it gently with her thumb.

Slow steps, I walk in a disjointed pattern. Two, two, one, three.
She does not hurry me.
Around my waist snakes an arm.
With my sharp intake of breath, a note of alarm.
"Aww petal, it's okay. I mean you no harm."

"You're alright now, your fight is over."
She says taking my bloodied revolver.
Exchanging it for a torn and red stained four leaf clover.