The Rifle Range – Microfiction Short Story

The Rifle Range

Severn stumbles forward as a blast tears into his stomach, ripping a bloody hole through his body, as he drops to his knees his eyes roll up into the back of his head. A second shot removes that from his shoulders and his decapitated lifeless remains drops to the dry earth below him.

“Frekken piece of shit!” Forman grunts as his spits a wad a saliva into the sea of red that grows from Severn’s already decomposing corpse. He turns to Jacob with a quickly disappearing smile as he stares down the barrel of a gun. “W-W-What the h-hell man!”

“You brought that so called piece of shit here to my HOME, and someone has to answer for that mistake! The passage of ownership stops at you, so you must answer the call.”

“B-B-But, but I, I didn’t even kno-know HIM until last FUCKING week! HE WAS YOUR MATE!” he screams desperately.

Jacob tightens up his left eye and snaps his lips together while slapping his tongue tightly against the inside of his cheek which causes a clicking sound to escape from his mouth. “Nah, I don’t think that’s correct!” he says matter-of-factly, as he tightens his finger around the revolvers trigger.

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