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My first attempt at flash fiction:


“Babe, I have a routine call. But I’ll be home for dinner.”

I entered the front door cautiously, gun drawn.  Bradley on my six. Rollie and Stan were behind him. Bradley and I would check the upstairs while they cleared the first floor. Stealth eluded us on the creaky stair of the old home. I reached the top of the stairs. A little girl sat on the floor against the wall. Her knees drawn to her chest. I signaled Bradley to look at what I saw.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.


I stepped a little closer.

“Are you okay? Is there anyone else in the house?” She looked up into my eyes then, pointed around the side hallway. Bradley took the hallway to check for others. I stayed with the frighten little girl.

“What’s your name?”

“Sarah,” she squeezed out.

“Mother of god!” Bradley yelled.

“Stay here.”

I joined Bradley in the rear bedroom where he stood frozen. I froze next to him. I heard Rollie and Stan ascending the stairs. They’d heard him too. I tried to stop them from coming upon the scene.

It was too late.

The sight of the blood, brain matter, and body parts strewn about the room was overwhelming. The walls were doused with blood. Someone wanted to change the decor. We were all in the doorway of the bedroom, Rollie blowing chunks.

But who was watching the little girl?

A flash bomb went off.

I woke up in an ambulance.



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