The Charge

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 26, 2016

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Submitted: November 26, 2016

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They charged at the last line of defense, bayonets pointed at him. His eyes stung from the beating sunrays. He fumbled with his gunpowder, each grain slowly slipping from his grasp as he poured it down the barrel, his hand acting as a makeshift funnel. He toke the shell from between his teeth. He picked up the rod and stuffed the shell downward before pulling it up again. He looked up at his attacker, fifty yards now, he had five seconds maybe less. The final cache of gunpowder, he poured it down. Twenty yards, this one was fast, too fast. Should he fire now? No, stupid, he picked up the rod and exerted his strength on its top, hoping the powder was not wet. Ten yards. He pulled the flint into position before lifting the gun to sit in his shoulder. Delicately his thumb cocked the rifle making that pleasant clicking as it sank into place. The attacker realized yet he was too close now so he drove onward as back was not an option, Smart. One shot, life or death. His index finger, sore from overuse contracted pulling the trigger. The flint licked the piece of metal lighting the spark. Smoke met his nose, filling his lungs with its smell. The rifle whiplashed against him sending a spasm of pain down his entire body. It erupted sending its contents into the air. The attacker fell in front of him before he could strike. A coiled viper that releases its energy against the ground in frustration. He was saved. The last of the gunpowder used. He thanked those above for his luck before he saw the second attacker rush up the hill. He had five maybe four seconds.


© Copyright 2017 Sean Kelly. All rights reserved.

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