The Commission

First Woman Jury, Los Angeles, Nov 1911. PD photo by Library of Congress.

He always looked about him after neutralising a target to make sure there were no surprises; a bounty hunter could make enemies easily.

The parking lot was empty save for a few cars, silent bar the chirrup of one or two birds. A plastic carrier bag skittered across the sun-baked tarmac, bounded into the air, performed a somersault in the warm breeze before sliding up to an elderly Ford and snuggling up under the wheel arch.

Rasputin allowed his thoughts dissolve into quietude, took a deep breath, exhaled and relaxed his muscles…

…which tensed instantly to rock-hardness as somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He dashed forwards into a lunge, turning as his feet slid across the ground, drew his blade in one fluid motion before settling into a stance.

A group of stern-faced women stood before him, dressed in late 19th century attire, the edges of their petticoats undulating beneath their pinafores.

“Rasputin, the bounty hunter?” asked a tall woman in a plain black dress.


“We are the Commission. You will come with us. Now.”

Smirking, Rasputin disappeared….

…reappeared in a 19th century court room, saw the women already sat before him on rows of benches.

“You cannot escape justice Rasputin, any more than you can escape yourself.”


About TheImaginator

35 year old sciolist living in Tokyo. I like swing dancing, Twitter word games, writing, using, reading, and watching movies. I write stuff on my blog occasionally.
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