No Contract

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Story about taking revenge in an unexpected manner.

Submitted: May 27, 2017

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Submitted: May 27, 2017

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No Contract

 

The sickly grey face of alderman Jason Corrigan popped into view as the sniper adjusted the telescopic lens on the Barrett rifle. The man with the hard features controlled his breathing as he bent his right index finger around the trigger. It was time for revenge, this time there was no contract; no large amount of money in the secret bank account, this time it was personal. Corrigan would pay for forcing the old folks from their homes. Too many of them had died in the last couple of weeks, including his ageing father.
Alderman Corrigan stepped forward to the microphone, so the sniper had to lower the rifle a fraction of an inch. The cross hairs were trained on the bridge of the alderman’s nose. The index finger slightly tightened the grip on the trigger. As the alderman started to speak, the sniper adjusted the volume of his earphones, so he could hear the Alderman’s speech as it was broadcast by the local radio station.
“With regret I have to announce that after more than a decade of service, I will have to resign from the city council. As you may know, I have battled with this terrible decease for a long time now, and the battle is coming to an end. As a consequence, my health does no longer allow me to be active for the good of the community. With regret I have to tell you that the time God allows me on this earth, will be spent in the bosom of my family.”
At that point, the sniper relaxed his trigger finger and lowered the rifle.
“Serves you right, you bastard,” the sniper said softly. “You are not going to get off this lightly. No merciful end for you.”

Ten minutes later, the man with the suitcase that contained the sniper rifle, looked up as the car of alderman Corrigan drove past. He looked straight in the eyes of the doomed man. A quick smile appeared on his face as he nodded. Sometimes fate dealt you a good hand. “I hope you’ll be around for a while,” the man said as the car sped down the road. “You bastard.”

 

 

 


© Copyright 2017 Bert Broomberg. All rights reserved.

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