Flash fiction comes quickly and in the moment. Maybe it highlights just a single action of a nameless character? A longing unresolved love letter? The last entry of a soldier's field journal.
All of these are examples that can lead to short, fast-paced fiction. The one I am sharing today is: ‘5:00’
5:00
By: Bradley Wright
The room seems to be getting smaller. It has always been the same.
Four walls and a single window. Not that I have ever seen out of it. No, I could never do that. It's not that I don't want too. I just can't. They were too afraid of what Imight do. They resorted to heavy iron chains. Like I’m some kinda animal.
I mean not that there is much to see. There is only so much to look at in the desert anyways. Vast sand valleys. Misshapen, thorny, parched plants. Reaching to the sky begging for rain. If only they knew what I know. There isn't anything up there. Nothing that cares about our plate. No relief. No rest. Just nothing.
At least I got my favorite breakfast. 3 fluffy Biscuits, smothered in thick white gravy, three thick cuts of bacon and three eggs served sunny. It always bothered me that the stuff you buy at the market just gets thinner and thinner.
I'm just not sure why I had to eat so early. 4 a.m.? Just seems a little excessive. Even for this barren place. The air is dry and hot but the nights get so cold. When it rains it's for a few minutes and it passes on. But everything here passes on in it's time I guess. Except father Martinez. He has been coming around here for the last 3 months. He comes and speaks with me every Sunday. Right around 12:30. I figure that's when morning mass let's out. Not that I would know. The only time I went to church was when my old man passed. Good riddens is what I say. The only thing he ever did was keep the lights on, bring home paper thin bacon and a growler of shine in the other hand. The last time he emptied one, it gave him a fever he couldn't shake. I don't blame him though.
He didn't make me kill that butcher. He didn't even give me the gun I used. He couldn't afford one. Nope. That I got all on my own. It was that bacon. The bacon just kept getting thinner and thinner. The price just got higher and higher. The entitled Moran. He has never seen a day of hardship he just spends all day taken inventory. Processing animal after animal. He even throws out the skins and pelts? As if anyone could waste anything these days. Well he'll answer for it. I made sure he did.
I mean I couldn't help myself. That fake smile as I handed over 2 whole dollars for a measly ½ pound of that thin see through bacon. Times are hard, sure, but we have to eat! He was making money on my empty stomach. No. Not anymore. Now he's fillin the bellies of whatever creeps in the thick desert clay he's sleeping beneath.
Before the smoke even left the barrel, the marshal was in there throwing me to the ground. Just doing his duty i guess. I mean I did just kill a man. But see, all that meat in his locker would have spoiled. So they just started passing it out. In a way, that butcher did more dead then he ever did alive. I even heard from Sal that they paid his wife in government bonds for the losses the business suffered. In a way, I did some good.
Just a short morning walk. Two hallways, and a set of poorly built wooden steps.
None of that matters now though. It's five in the morning and I have got this black veil over my face. There is a muffled voice of some stiff man in a black suit and top hat. I never thought the rope would itch so bad. It's just me. Always has been always will be. Now all I have to do is look at the sky like the rest of the withered, useless, parched life forms around me and wait for the door to….. * flop*
A bit about me: My name is Bradley Wright. brad works just fine though. I was born and raised in Las Cruces New Mexico; where I currently study English at NMSU. I am an aspiring writer and creator. I am newly married to my beautiful wife and come from a large family that I hope to make proud. I so hope that you enjoyed my story. I can’t wait to see what inspires you!
Keep Writing!
Brad Wright
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