Four Bullets

One. Two. Three. Four.

His seven-decade-old hands hold tight on the rusting rails of his lightless room’s window. His darkened eyes stare at the now fallen tree and then to the triumphant men who successfully defeated the lush pine.

The lush pine planted and reared by his wife. His wife who died last month.

He slowly turns his tear-stained face away from the laughing men and the defeated tree as his old hand unlocked the drawer hiding his pistol. He reaches further for the bullets and slowly loads the gun.

With a dark smile, he whispers…

One. Two. Three. Four.

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Word count: 100

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Shivangi Singh

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Here’s my dark comeback for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) January 17, 2017. 🙂 Miss you, PJ!

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