Friday, 14 February 2014


The gun was still pointed at Jean's temple. The sweaty, bearded man had begun the countdown. Ten....Nine.... He had only ten distinct seconds to make a choice, to reach a decision.

 Eight....Jean was breathing heavily, blood slowly crawled on its downward journey from a gash on her forehead.Her life slowly seeped from their home without any regrets.The musty twang of blood hit his nose hard. Fear, and a faint glint of...hope?! darkened her eyes.
Seven....Six...The butt of the gun now pressed against her temple. Sweat dribbled down its owners face, the brows set, the mouth forming hard lines of stubbornness.
Five...The silence bulged with a cacophony of palpable emotions. Flies swatted near the mans head.
Four....The air hung still, prominent detachment silently took its place.
Three...His throat was dry. Breathing grew difficult.
Two...He moved. Sheer strength of will made his decision. He moved a step and fell on his knees, defeat slumping his shoulders.

The above was written for the FSF challenge-
FSF(Click Here!!!)
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