Tuesday, March 14, 2023

Micro Fiction March Day 14

Today's challenge was a difficult one to write - not because I didn't have an idea (one popped into my head quite quickly, but because I found (as a parent) this was really emotional to write. I hope the authenticity of the emotion comes across in the writing. I think this might be my favourite piece I've written so far in this challenge, and it's also one of the most brutal pieces I've ever written despite being only 300 words in length. I hope you enjoy it all the same...


“I’m sorry,” I said, the gun feeling heavy as an anvil as I raised it.

My son was on his knees before me sobbing, his big brown eyes wide open and tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Momma,” he said, his voice raw.

I remembered giving birth to him; I can no longer remember the pain, only the elation. How it felt to cradle him, warm, in my arms for the first time and know in that moment that he was my world and I would do everything to protect him.

I remembered his tottering first steps as my husband filmed him. An involuntary stab of pain as I thought of my husband, now gone. I remembered holding his hand, so small in my own, as we walked down the street for the first time in a swirl of Autumn leaves. I remembered pushing him on a swing and ice cream in the park. I remembered Christmases and birthdays. I remembered the thrill and fear of seeing him off to school that first day, so tiny and so brave. I remembered prom, my heart swollen with pride. In that barest fraction of a second, I remembered it all. 

The gun shook slightly in my hand as I levelled it at him, my finger caressing the cold trigger.

“Momma,” he begged, eyes wide with fear.

I closed my eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

I squeezed the trigger and everything happened in an instant.

The deafening bang. The acrid smell of gunpowder. The splintering of wood. The savage, guttural growls.

They were here. And I knew they would devour me, just like they had my husband. But I’d done everything to protect my boy to the end. My final bullet ensuring that he will never join them.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as my last words.

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