Flash Fiction

The voices shrieked in agony as I leveled the gun, hands trembling. Sweat dribbled down my brow like a river as I gritted my teeth. My eyes narrowed at the man as he lowered his gun, his wife still fixed in my aim.

Disheveled hair hung before my eyes like the corpse of a hanging man. If only to bring justice to my parents death I’d kill them.

Sound exploded from the barrel of my rifle, light pouring forth in a sudden blast. The bitter tang of gunpowder laced my lips and the blood sprayed into my dark brown beard.

World darkened to my eyes, I blinked, forcing it back into focus.

The man’s wife lay in a pool of her own blood, hands reaching in death to her husband. I could see the man’s mouth open in what I assumed to be a wild scream, though I didn’t hear it.

Spit slid around my mouth, mixing with the astringent gunpowder.

The grass beneath my feet rose from the earth like knives as I edged toward the man, his pitiful final line of defense. My world had come crashing down around me because of him. I had every right to do the same.

“You’re insane,” the man said, tears cascading down his cheeks.

“Maybe, but why should I care either way?” I leveled the gun at his skull.

His eyes squeezed closed, and he turned away.

The agony of my grief coiled around my heart like a snake. My pain died here. It died now in the ashes of the concentration camp my father had been murdered in.

A scream broke from my lips as I my finger squeezed the cold metal of the trigger. The man’s eyes rolled back in his skull and with a final spray of blood, I knew my parents had been avenged.

. . . . .

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