
a flash story by David G ShrockAlistair Monroe sat on the wood floor, his back leaning against the wall. He watched the flame swirl in the lantern beside him. Every once in a while, blue shot up from the center sending the little flame into a flickering frenzy before settling back into its dance. A revolver sat on the floor between his outstretched legs. Dirt and blood stains covered his boots.
Breathing in the musty air, Alistair smelled rotting flesh. The putrid stench...
Published on July 01, 2010 10:45