Category: Flash Fiction

The Hit

Luke, a hitman for mafia boss Sam Giancana, looked up at the School Book Depository building knowing Lee Harvey Oswald was inside waiting.

He was told Oswald was going to try and assassinate President J.F. Kennedy as his motorcade slowly drove by in downtown Dallas. They told him Oswald was going to be the false sponsor for the murder.

Luke checked under his trench coat, touching the Mannlicher-Carcano rifle briefly. Identical to the one Oswald had. No one noticed him blend into the tree line of the grassy knoll.

He waited until the time was right, took aim and fired!

 


The Waiting Room

Somewhere between the unknown and reality there’s a waiting room for souls. Their expressionless faces reflect the rigors of their lives.

The souls have different expectations about their fate. Beliefs of a lifetime wait to be validated. Hopes of being reacquainted with loved ones go unspoken in the silence. 

When the doors of justice open they go inside. A panel of life forms from throughout the solar system waits to judge them according to universal laws. 

Good and evil is balanced upon scales based upon what they did in life. There’s no lawyers to plead their case – just their deeds.

The Druid

He swiftly ran through the dense forest ahead of his Roman enemies. As a Druid priest he knew this grove well, avoiding the pitfalls and traps his people set for the oppressors.

Amergin was the last of the Druid priests. The rest were massacred. He refused to let that stop him from rallying his people against the Roman’s and their gods.

As his pursuers drew near he pressed his body against a tree and prayed for invisibility. They ran by him without a glance. At that moment Amergin knew that he would be able to keep the old religion alive.

   

Moon Landing

Millions of Americans breathlessly watched the Apollo 11 land on the moon with two American astronauts aboard. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin. Black and white TV’s nationwide watched the fuzzy images of the two men hopping around on the moon’s crust.

America puffed out it’s chest. 

Two national heroes were born. America was winning the space race. A sense of national pride swelled from the farms to the cities throughout the country. Science triumphed. The future was here.

“One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” Armstrong gushed.

Somewhere in a secret studio: “That’s a wrap!” the director said.

 

Faker

Zack pulled out the canvas bag of specially selected scat and poured it out. He picked up the two wooden sticks with extra large feet and carefully walked them away from the scat  while disguising his footprints with a tree branch.

He hid in a tree so he could see the reaction of the Bigfoot hunters that he knew where nearby. Years playing the game watching men make idiots of themselves looking for a mythical monster. It was good for local businesses, like his.

The hunters came into view the same moment a powerful hairy arm choked Zack to death!

Changing

The man in the mirror was changing every time Randy looked.

It was a slow transformation. His once calm and bland features turned into a landscape of worry wrinkles. His blue eyes became murky gray. 

He knew the change was about more than just growing old. Something was evolving in his mind. Something dark that slithered around his consciousness just out of sight. Fear of the other. People with different beliefs and colors.

Randy’s world, rooted in another era, was gone and he missed it so much it made him angry. Hate crept into his heart like a venomous snake.

War of the Worlds

Raymond turned away from the radio in time to see his Mother’s worried eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “This is just nostalgia radio with Orson Wells narrating War of the Worlds.”

Suddenly static. Sounds of people panicking. A man’s voice “This is not a drill” Fading. Static.

“It’s not for real, Mom. It’s from a 1938 broadcast.”

Static stops. A man’s voice. “The president was able to flee in Air Force One when…”

“Son! When Franklin Roosevelt was in office in 1938 there was no Air Force One!“

They both turned to the window in time to see the mushroom cloud.

The Ghost

Since the ghost first appeared while Jena was making herself dinner, she was determined to ignore it.

No such things as ghosts. Common knowledge. Still it was getting harder to ignore her dead husband who only showed up when she was alone. His appearances were becoming more frequent lately.

One day she decided the “ghost” might be her conscience. If so, it was a first. Even her family thought she was “calculating and cold-blooded.“

With restored belief there were no ghosts, she smiled the next time she saw him, even though he was holding the revolver she killed him with.

Murder Mystery

Don stopped typing and looked at the last passage he wrote about a horrendous murder in his hometown:

“The Burke family was slaughtered in their beds. Parents and the two children had their throats slit. No clues left behind. Investigators baffled about motive.“

As the lone reporter for the local newspaper he had to write about the murder. He didn’t want to sensationalize it, but the editor insisted. One side of his brain said tamp the story down. The other said quit worrying and do your job.

The last thing he wanted to do was bring unwanted attention to himself!

 

The Tracker

Clem got off his worn-out horse. The poor creature was near death after three days of running from his tracker who he suspected was a bounty hunter. 

His crime, killing a man in self defense. No trial.

Took his saddle and warbag off his horse, turning him loose. In the horizon he saw a cloud of dust. A rider. Maybe an hour away. The blazing sun was merciless. He was out of water. Only one bullet left in his revolver. 

This was his last stand. Finally, the rider drew near.

“Is that you Clem?” his brother cried out in surprise.

 

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