Flash Fiction

It was the light pink blouse set against the straight black of her business wear that made her stand out. Then it was the dark red stain that made her fall. She gobbled at air as she fell to the ground fighting against death, who stood at her shoulder. An old fashioned machine gun nestled in the crook of an arm tense with modern cynicism.

When she had seen the last of life and lay still against the busy roadside Death smiled and pulled her delicately to her feet. As she realised that the people around her were ignoring her, in fact they were concentrating on her inert dead, she became aware of smiling death at her side.

She realised instinctively that death wanted her as his companion. It showed in the infinite loneliness that made his eyes and she knew that her eternity of commitment was at its creation. She fingered her gently weeping bullet holes and she sighed.