Flash Fiction by Thomas Hiscock
Gunner paused –
Hanging from his mailbox was a bait bag – just a raggedy, red pouch – nothing more…
If it hadn’t been for the full moon and the message, well…
He sighed, kissing a cigarette.
“Fuck!”
He knew the drill… “Pay late – tomorrow’s bait.”
Just the way things went around here – Fishbones was ‘that’ kinda’ town…
Yup, in Fishbones they fucked ya.’
His porch light blinked in agreement.
Gunner didn’t want to be hacked apart… (or fed to any crabs) –
But he did want that money… so FUCK ‘em!
He smiled, placing a hand over his tattered coat pocket –
The stars bristled…
Gunner frowned; cocking his pistol, he made for the house.
“Come and try a MOTHERFUCKER!” He told the door –
Woodsmoke rushed to greet him and he relaxed…
Still, the .45 whispered…
Someone would die tonight.
Text © Thomas Hiscock
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