Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in around 200 words.
He stared down at the keyboard, blinking away sweat and tears. Hands shaking. Sick, sinking, feel in his belly. Meal bitter on his tongue.
The fly was cleaning its wings, moving one to the other. Flaunting its power. Its contempt.
He read and re-read the ten words flashing on his screen. Ten words between life and death. Ten words until the end.
Nine. He shouldn’t have done it.
Eight. Shouldn’t have listened. Should never have listened.
Seven. Panic. Heat. In his hands. On his face.
Six. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.
Five. Too late. Too late.
Four. Eyes. Begging. Blank. Blank. Blank.
Three. Deaf. Nobody told him he’d be deaf. Nobody told him.
Two. So much blood. Too much for one body. Hands and face and in his mouth.
The fly was gone.