Flash Fiction (Story #1)

     Crimson glistened on his hand, as the gun fell in slow motion unto the freshly made bed. The small hole oozed a small amount of blood from his right temple, while the left was shattered. The wall was painted with his grey matter and pieces of skull as he lay there; eyes wide open, looking at nothing.
     Hope slowly seeped out of his fractured head like sour molasses. His splattered note professing his torment, agony, and hollow apologies lay open; as his testament to this violent act. The gunshot still echoed in the small room, as the aroma of spilled whiskey and gunpowder hung thick in the air... An eerie silence soon followed as he twitched ever so slightly.
      I have no recollection of how I got here as this feels suspiciously like a dream. I have never dreamt in such vivid detail before, nor have I ever witnessed such a terrifying act. As I walk closer to the unknown victim, I notice his shirt. It is a ragged, green plaid button down. It looks exactly like my favorite shirt. I slowly walk closer as the horrible reality pours over me like a warm waterfall. His eyes... His cold, starring eyes... They were... Mine!




* Flash Fiction is a very short story consisting of a few sentences or paragraphs