G’day and welcome to Wednesday, eh. Guess what hoseheads. It’s time for the Indies Unlimited Flash Fiction vote again. Maybe you know the deal by now, but if you don’t, I will explain a little for you.
Every week Indies Unlimited gives a picture and a prompt for us to write some flash fiction. Our portion of the story is limited to 250 words. And so every Wednesday, the readers get to vote on their favorite piece for the week. The winner each week is given their own special treatment for the week and then at the end of the year the collected winners are featured in the annual anthology.
Whether you win every week or not is irrelevant though. There are advantages for writing that go beyond just making it into the anthology. A big boon of this challenge is setting yourself up on a deadline to finish a story. Do on a weekly basis and before you know it you have 52 stories of your very own that you can put into a book. Of course there are even more bonuses to this but that one alone is pretty huge.
So I guess it is time for me to get out of the way. Check out the story then head over to Indies Unlimited and give me your votes (a vote for me means the puppies live).
I saw the pomegranate on the windowsill, but the shutters were closed. The contact was not there. Something had gone wrong.
It happens more often that you’d think, and way more often than I like. A missed connection doesn’t necessarily mean the mission has been blown, but it is never a good sign.
The only thing to do in situations like this is to stay calm and remain vigilant. I took the pomegranate and proceeded down the alleyway to the secondary rendezvous point. That’s when I noticed I was being followed…
These missions, without contact with our counter parts, require precision and planning. A missed move like that ends in bloodshed. I knew it wouldn’t be mine, not this time.
I deliberately slowed my pace. Not to make it appear like I slowed, but enough to draw her out, bring her closer. I would have one chance at this, and couldn’t afford any mistakes.
I slipped through an open door and turned back wary for her to follow me. But, she walked past. I was wrong. Did I slip into full paranoia? Too many deep cover missions can eat at your mind it seems.
A few minutes after she passed the doorway, I stepped back out onto the street. Deserted, no one around, where did she go? I doubled back the way I had come from. At the least, they wouldn’t expect it.
Unable to shake the feeling of eyes all around me, each open window or doorway that I passed opened into a new sense of dread. The weight of my M9 in its shoulder harness gave me comfort. They were on to me. I should have seen the pomegranate for what it was, a sign.
“Are you lost?” The voice, a woman’s, though gravelly with a thick accent, stopped me cold.
I sized her up, thin, harmless. I could take her. “Sorry, I missed an appointment with a friend,” I said.
“Did you need, help?” She asked. The question, paled next to the Luger in her hand.
Do you ever hear the terminator voice in your head at inopportune moments? Anyway, who do you think the woman is? Could it be his missing contact or maybe something more sinister?