Flash Fiction

The white van swerves across in front of the oncoming tram which blows it’s steam whistle furiously. There is just enough room between the tram and the sidewalk for the battered van to pull to a grinding stop. As the tram trundles beyond the van, the van’s front doors fly open and two large, well-armed, slepkas jump out. They leave the doors ajar and jog across the road into the crowd of protesters in the park opposite.

Before they have been spotted, they close in on their target. The smaller of the two slepkas aims a vicious kick at the back of the target’s knee while the other pulls a mean looking zip gun from his belt. Passing several thousand volts through anyone, innocent or target, causes them to jerk violently and then pass out. A few protesters try to object but the larger of the two slepkas flashes his zipgun and they quietly looked the other way. The slepkas drag the target between them back across the road. As they reach the old van the rear door burts open, and a third previously unseen man emerges, pointing at the still unconscious target. He says, in a broad local accent, "folklorist, you are forbidden." With that the unconscious body is thrown into the van never to be seen again.