Welcome to Wednesday and the reveal of the story based on the Indies Unlimited flash fiction challenge prompt. Every week on Saturdays they post a picture and a written prompt and then we are given until Tuesday to write and post a story to their site for our entry. A team of judges then go through the stories and pick out the ones they feel are the strongest and those stories are put up for public vote on Wednesdays.
One of the toughest stipulations, the story needs to be 250 words or less. Seems easy, but nothing is ever as easy as it seems.
Jay walked up the long, narrow drive to Mr. Smith’s house. There it is, a perfect picture postcard of a place. Crime pays after all.
He marveled at how much money Smith must have raked in from naive writers like himself. Everybody pays for editing. Everybody pays for cover design. Everybody pays and pays and pays…
But you don’t pay, do you, Mr. Smith? Jay shoved his hands deep in his pockets and started forward. This confrontation was long overdue as far as Jay was concerned. But it seemed trouble had arrived early. As he approached, he heard raised voices from within the house…
Jay had rehearsed the confrontation for days, prepared the words and his reactions. He wanted justice. Well, not justice, that was drastic, but he did want a refund. He had paid far too much for the “services” that Mr. Smith never actually performed.
The voices had grown louder, punctuated by cracks of thunder. The thunder came from inside the house. Jay ran, not away, but up to the side door. He couldn’t see anything from the front windows so they had to be in the kitchen.
He swung the door open wide and peeked around the corner into the kitchen and the dining room beyond. It was as the door swung open that he regretted never owning a gun.
Alice Weatherby stood at the edge of the kitchen, her back to Jay. He couldn’t see anyone else past her. A counter divided the kitchen and dining room, next to the walkway between the two. Her hands were at her sides and empty.
“Everything Okay, Alice?” He said.
She shook her head but said nothing. As Jay stepped into the kitchen she didn’t move from where she stood. A Glock lay on the floor at her feet. “He took it all,” she said. She stood her ground in front of Jay, didn’t turn around.
Mr. Smith lay on the ground in a crumpled heap. His left hand covered in blood had reached for the holes that blossomed from his chest. Alice made sure he paid.