Showing posts with label Flash Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flash Fiction. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Incendiary

Incendiary
The bank was having their regularly scheduled armored truck delivery, each of the two cars containing at least $5,000,000.  A classic place for a robbery.  One of the guards was out sick, so they would even have one less obstacle in their way.  But he didn’t strike there.
The museum was hosting a week-long exclusive viewing of rare gemstones from Africa and the Middle East.  Even the smallest of these gems is priceless, but the man in the orange and black suit did not bother.
9:45 AM, a crisp early April morning.  One of the first nice days after the winter cold, a gentle wind accompanies the city folk enjoying the nice weather, and a man in an orange and black diagonally striped suit and a metal helmet walks into the city governor’s office building.
Not even 5 seconds after walking through the main doors the man commands in a low, flat voice, “You have one minute to leave the building before these doors burst.  I need to have a private conversation.”  As a security guard begins to approach him, the man suddenly and without hesitation pulls out a silver handgun.  BANG-BANG!  He shoots the guard twice, leaving him alive but severely crippled.  The man says one more thing before he opens the door to the stairwell, “You had your chance.”  A millisecond later, the door shatters in a fiery shockwave.
Within seconds the four ground floor entrances and exits are all consumed in bursts of flame.  As everyone else in the building frantically panics, the man in the metal helmet continues to calmly climb the stairs.  Some start to flee down the staircase he is on, seeing their scared expressions reflected by the polished industrial-type metal that encases his entire head, save his face.  A few take notice of the helmet’s details as they run to hopeful safety.  A center stripe of rivets bolts over his head from the just above his forehead to the back of his head.  Two larger bolts on the sides of his helmet hold a bulky, vicious looking mouthpiece that looks similar to the bottom jaw of a shark.  
Firetrucks and ambulances can be heard arriving outside the building as the man meets his target at the top of the stairs.  The governor frantically opens the doors to the stairwell from the hallway, quickly glancing to see if these stairs were already overwhelmed with flames like the first stairwell he tried.  
“Oh, Mr. Governor,” the man says in a fake surprised tone.  “I’ve been needing to speak with you.”
“Wha-what?  Who are you?  N-nevermind we need to get out of here!” the governor tries to push past, but the man easily stops him with his muscular arms.

“That was not a request.  We can have our conversation now.” The man’s dark eyes glint under his helmet in the firelight as he sternly orders the governor.  “After our talk, these flames will be the least of your worries.”

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Headlights

There’s something about the way the headlights illuminate the road ahead that sends a shiver down your spine. They’re too bright. Too artificial. They only allow you to see a few feet ahead of yourself, like the darkness ahead is running away from the yellow beams chasing after it. It bends around the automobiles barreling down the road and pounds on the windows, begging to be let in, but still keeping secrets hidden in the feet in front of you. It doesn’t seem like real life, the edges of the road erased along with the forest surrounding it, erasing all the familiarity you had with the road. The asphalt bleeds into the overbearing blackness and joins it, morphing into a vacuum broken only by your obnoxious headlights. Those two bright rays disrupting the new, silent world created by the night. A world you’ve never been invited to be a part of. Maybe that’s why it scares you, because you’re the one out of place here. The world has gone to sleep, but you’re still wide awake. And your high beams are bringing light to where darkness deserved to be.

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