Flash Fiction

He walked, half marched, across the vast expanse of Heroes Square but before he had managed halfway in the journey across the immense reaches of the seemingly infinite he stumbled down to one knee by the force of the driving torrential rain. His sodden clothes, once splendid, helped weigh him down but his conscience weighed him heavier.

Although it may have been his wish he did not cry, he did not cry. The rain became his tears and the thunder his castigation.

The first shot had taken her in the midriff, and she fell before he could take a second. He shot her partner just because he could and now, he was to face his justice for failure.

He now stumbled more than walked, more than marched and it was a long slow journey to where the five heroes sat in statuesque silence. An almost indiscernible glass covering kept them dry whilst they deliberated.

He stood motionless in the continuing rain. A day, of twenty-four static hours, passed. The rain ceased as the next dawn broked. A bell announced their decision. No more hero anymore.