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Anthony vs. Violent Flash Fiction
Jan. 9th, 2006 01:49 pmDennis looked down at the smoking automatic pistol in his hand. He was shocked. He never meant to let it get to this point. Never meant for it to get so out of hand.
He looked across the room to where Jacob stood against the wall, blinking through the pain, plastered to the wallpaper and drywall by his own blood.
"What the hell did you just do?" shouted Francine. "You shot Jacob! What the hell is wrong with you Denny?" She backed towards the door.
"It was an accident...I only meant to scare him away from you." Dennis was shaking, his hand still gripping tightly on the .45 automatic. His finger twitched on the trigger guard.
"It was just a casual kiss, you jerk! I meant nothing by it!" She was searching in the couch, throwing pillows, moving cushions.
Jacob coughed, then gurgled, and slid down the wall leaving dark red streaks a foot wide in his wake. The three bullets had gone through him like nothing, leaving three quarter size bubbing holes in his chest. He collapsed in a heap.
"What the hell are you looking for, Francine?" Dennis turned from his friend's dying body and sat on the edge of the coffee table facing his girlfriend.
"I'm looking for the phone to call the police, you maniac." She'd found the tiny cellular phone on the arm of the couch beneath the TV Guide. She began to dial.
"Don't you do that Francine!" He pointed his gun towards her. "Don't you turn on me, too."
Francine's eyes went large, she extended her middle finger and dialed 9-1-1 with her the thumb of her other hand, hit "talk."
"Don't you do it, Francine!" He was crying, convulsing, and not realizing what he was doing, pulled the trigger.
Francine dropped the phone, stunned. Her brow furroughed, and her lips turned into a tight frown, more with disappointment than pain. She gasped slightly as she sunk onto the couch.
Dennis jerked the trigger three more times, threw the gun down and ran out the door into the street.
He was unarmed when the police arrested him. They still beat him in the interrogation cell.
© Anthony Robinson
He looked across the room to where Jacob stood against the wall, blinking through the pain, plastered to the wallpaper and drywall by his own blood.
"What the hell did you just do?" shouted Francine. "You shot Jacob! What the hell is wrong with you Denny?" She backed towards the door.
"It was an accident...I only meant to scare him away from you." Dennis was shaking, his hand still gripping tightly on the .45 automatic. His finger twitched on the trigger guard.
"It was just a casual kiss, you jerk! I meant nothing by it!" She was searching in the couch, throwing pillows, moving cushions.
Jacob coughed, then gurgled, and slid down the wall leaving dark red streaks a foot wide in his wake. The three bullets had gone through him like nothing, leaving three quarter size bubbing holes in his chest. He collapsed in a heap.
"What the hell are you looking for, Francine?" Dennis turned from his friend's dying body and sat on the edge of the coffee table facing his girlfriend.
"I'm looking for the phone to call the police, you maniac." She'd found the tiny cellular phone on the arm of the couch beneath the TV Guide. She began to dial.
"Don't you do that Francine!" He pointed his gun towards her. "Don't you turn on me, too."
Francine's eyes went large, she extended her middle finger and dialed 9-1-1 with her the thumb of her other hand, hit "talk."
"Don't you do it, Francine!" He was crying, convulsing, and not realizing what he was doing, pulled the trigger.
Francine dropped the phone, stunned. Her brow furroughed, and her lips turned into a tight frown, more with disappointment than pain. She gasped slightly as she sunk onto the couch.
Dennis jerked the trigger three more times, threw the gun down and ran out the door into the street.
He was unarmed when the police arrested him. They still beat him in the interrogation cell.
© Anthony Robinson
