Welcome to Flashes of Sanity! Your daily dose of flash fiction on 500 words or less.
Today’s entry: Harsh decisions
”Take something, anything, and start crushing them.” Dale picked up a brick from the fountain. ”If anyone moves we lose. I take Mart.”
”Can’t Carl use the elves?” Mitch asked.
”We have seen what happens when one sinner is in control. I don’t want to see another one.”
Mitch picked one of the bricks. He looked at it.
I will slam this through someone’s face, he thought. I can do it.
”Hurry,” Carl said. ”Please hurry. The echoes get stronger.”
”Come on kid,” Brutal Joe took Mitch’s arm. ”We don’t have time for you to think.”
”Your lips look so tasty!”
Brutal Joe smashed a face between the asphalt and a brick. The screams of a man in fear went silent. Then Joe smashed the arms and the legs.
”Just like the good old days,” he said and looked at Cat-scratch Bill.
Cat-scratch put a knife through a neck. He nodded. ”Just like the good old days.”
Donna joined them. She shivered as she looked at a brick full of blood. Mitch shivered too. His brick was still clean.
”Come on, guys,” Cassandra Crisis picked another brick. ”Think of all those you lost, and everyone you hate.”
Who have I lost? Mitch thought. My dad, my mom. Not my brothers, not yet at least.
The teacher looked at Mitch. Blood splatter traveled down his forehead.
”I would like to meet my brothers.”
”I can arrange that,” Dale said. ”And don’t you worry. We will make sure your dad can’t cause them more harm.”
”Do you think they are in danger.”
Dale lifted his brick from a face. He wiped the blood of his face with an even bloodier hand.
“Mitch, your father was no saint. That I am sure of. And I can only think of one place he would go once he got up above ground.”
The brick fell again. The crunch following was shilling.
The heaviness in Mitch’s hand turned to lead.
He has already found them, he thought. He has them.
His hesitance drowned in his brothers beaten bloodied. They all cried. They all feared. They all begged for Mitch to come for them.
A hand tightened around a brick. It his a face. The blood of a soldier stained Mitch’s suit. Mitch threw the brick into another face. They all looked the same. They all were his father.
Copyright © David B. Johansson 2021