So another of these flash fiction challenges and this weeks theme is a damn cool one. Basically you start a story this week next week someone else will pick it up and this’ll carry on to the end of February. Again thanks a million Mister Wendig for these challenges. I hope this is enjoyable and be as cruel as possible about criticism.
Writing, Murdering And Other Questionable Careers
I often wondered what I was doing with my life. Whether a career writing about morally questionable teens was the best career choice then I reminded myself there was better times be discussing philosophy, the revolver in my face was the priority now. Behind the gun was a man, lanky and standing over six feet tall, with a balaclava disguising his probably weird face (I wasn’t spiteful I swear).
“You are Martin James, Right?”. His voice was croaky, most likely a heavy smoker. I knew who he was already.
“Would you believe me if I told you I was not?”. This was my time to stall and attempt to escape. The room was almost pitch black, the only light was the moon illuminating a small section of the living room. The front door was slightly hanging from the hinges, probably from when my intruder kicked it down. If he was even slightly distracted I might be able to make a break for it but where would I go?. I’m wearing a pair of godamn pj’s and my knife were still on my bedside locker alongside my phone.
Balaclava looked agitated now now, I could make out the gun trembling in his arm. If I could talk my way out if this……
“So are you at least gonna tell me why your here?” I was already 90% sure. Over two months ago I may have attempted murder him with the sharp bit of a fork in a van. He looked at me and I could tell through the mask he had a quizzical look on his face. He pulled back the hammer on the revolver and I heard the faint click and then everything happened.
The bullet buried itself in the wall behind me. I gave a sharp kick his leg and he buckled and fell to his knee. The next bullet scraped across the shoulder of my pj’s, leaving a visible tear. I winced and kneed the man in the jaw, sending him spiraling to his back. Wasting no more time I hopped over the groaning man and picked up the revolver.
Only two bullets left, the man didn’t even bring a fully loaded gun!. I couldn’t stifle the laugh and giggled, it was at this moment I realized there was a screeching ringing noise in my ear, most likely caused by the two bullets fired like a minute ago. This for some reason made me laugh more, I could sense Balaclava staring at me in shock.
I turned around and sure there he was, sweat running down his neck trembling in his boots. This is when I composed my giggling.
“You are really terrible at murder you know that?”. I said, wiping the barrel of the gun with a white cloth.
…….
Was his simple yet effective reply
“Excuse me but if I have the decency to not shoot you where you stand you should at least the respect to answer me”.
“S…s…s sorry” he squeaked.
Ten minutes later and I was sorted. A nice heavy rope held his arms at his waist, he looked almost comfortable sat on the couch. The balaclava was on the floor and I was pleasantly surprised. He was almost handsome except for the three small hole shaped scars on his cheek but otherwise his matted hair was cute in a way. I liked this man, quite a shame things went the way they did.
“So were gonna have a talk” I proclaimed as I hopped onto the chair opposing to him, this was going to be a lovely time I thought.
“Okay…..” His mind trailed off as the sentence faded away, he must’ve noticed the gun lying on my lap.
“So why did you come here tonight?” I asked with my finger tightening on the trigger
He noticed then and his face and pants darkened alongside each other. I wasn’t suprised, just disappointed.
“Look mate, I’m not gonna kill you (wasn’t really sure about that yet). We had a mishap a while ago but I thought that was sorted.” He looked sort of hopeful which made me happy. I did like to make people happy it gives a nice fuzzy feeling in the stomach.
“If you give me a good reason for calling here tonight and quite rudely” I gestured at the door with the gun “I think we could be good friends”.
“Why do you do it?”
And with that I felt a small tiny ounce of anxiety. People aren’t meant to question me. Its something different, its something dangerous, its something good?.
I smiled and answered.
” If my life was a book it would be written by a shitty author who would’ve just finished the first quarter and then asked someone else to do it but then again whats the chance of that?”.
THE END(sort of)
joeharris462 