Decided to bust a few of these out after reading about them on a blog as good practice for keeping concise. Gimme your thoughts and then add a few stories of your own.
They say there are complications. They look at him like heâ€™s dirty and touch him with gloved hands. He didnâ€™t ask for this. He hates them. Nobody answers his questions. Is he an animal to them?
They need to learn to respect. He knows a guy who knows a guy.
Closing time. Kate lifts the dirty saucer and there it is. Cold plastic. The raised lettering feels alien under her fingers. Hologram twinkles in the cafÃ© lights. Mastercard.
She glances around as she palms it, slips it into her apron pocket. Heart tight as a drum. Nobody sees. She hopes.
â€œWill you kill him?â€
â€œYeah,â€ I say. Itâ€™s a bluff. I donâ€™t even know how to load the thing.
Weber wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. â€œYou should make him beg.â€
â€œYeah.â€ The gun shakes in my grip. This is stupid. It was only a grand. â€œYeah.â€
She sees the spark jump from socket to finger and has time enough to feel fear. The stepladder tips over. Her head slaps the floor with a hollow sound.
People crowd around. Theyâ€™re blocking the light. Her lungs hitch and burn. Iâ€™m drowning in air, she realises. Thatâ€™s not fair.
Linda watches him replace the book on the shelf. His knuckles are hairy. He smiles a perfect smile and looks into her eyes like he knows her.
Itâ€™s just like the movies.
That night she lays her glasses on the bedside table and reaches down under the covers and imagines.
Old bones. Old eyes. Itâ€™s hard to watch the road. Things blur by so fast. The headlights catch catâ€™s eyes. At night, the road is a landing strip.
Seventy years of dying slowly. He canâ€™t walk up stairs, but he can slam the accelerator. His hands come off the wheel.
She imagines she can feel the cold through her suit, but she canâ€™t. All in the head. The sun breaks over distant mountains. It looks different in this atmosphere. Crisper.
She takes the first step. Red dust drifts slowly around her boots. The prints will remain after she is dead.
The customer in the blue suit thrusts a knife at Johnâ€™s face. He squeals and twists away. The manâ€™s eyes are calm. Light catches the blade. â€œAll the money. Now.â€
He opens the register and hands the cash over. As the man runs out John realises he has an erection.
Sirens. He looks out the window. The street below is smothered in shadow. He looks up. His pants fill with hot urine.
The sky is blocked by rippling metal. Lights. Hatches and vents and portholes. The floor is humming through his shoes. â€œToo soon,â€ he says, and everything goes white.
It has been so long, sitting in the darkness. Months. The manacles chafe. She canâ€™t remember her name anymore.
Something squeals in the basement. Echoes hurt. There is no light. The door is locked and sealed. Nothing gets out. The concrete is so cold.
When will he just kill her?