Flash Fiction - For easy reading

 These are two pieces of flash fiction I'd originally written for submission. Since it's well past the point where it'd be considered, I've decided to put them down here. They're both in the single theme of 'gun'. Enjoy!

***

The Disrupted Denouement

“And so I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that the murderer is–”

The report of a rifle outside the window, instantly followed by the smashing of glass, cut off the detective’s monologue. He was thrown back, a hole in his chest, to fall against the hearth with a sickening crash. Everyone gathered in the room – the two policemen, Lord and Lady Stool, Miss Amelia Straight, the Honourable Sebastian Cole, two maids, the butler, and a rather vague vicar – looked on in astonishment as the clever detective lay bleeding out onto the hearthrug. Then the Honourable Sebastian let out a falsetto scream, and the house was in uproar.

Over the next several weeks, all the grounds were searched. No trace was found of where the sniper had fired from. The detective’s last words were a string of gargled gibberish no-one could decipher. The notebook in which he had recorded all his findings was in indecipherable code. Each member of the household was arrested and released in turn, bar one. The papers were full of the mystery, almost to the exclusion of the murder the detective had investigated.

They never found the sniper. Or the murderer. They did execute someone for the crime, but does that really count?

***

The Bullet

I was fired from a .50 Calibre weapon at someone. I don’t know who, and frankly I didn’t care. It wasn’t my job to care, only be accurate. The snap of sound as I rushed from the barrel filled my world, and the dusty environment surrounding me masked my flight. I travelled approximately three metres, and in that time saw some very interesting things.

I saw two soldiers from one side advancing slowly on an enemy position. In another area I saw two enemy soldiers shouting some nonsense about their cause. I didn’t care about that. I was a bullet, what did it matter to me why I was fired? Well, I tell a lie there. I was fired by one side against another, to hit the target chosen by the soldier who fired me. That is an inviolate truth.

As I entered the body of my target, I briefly saw their uniform. I must admit to being puzzled. Either I’d been fired by an enemy, or the soldier firing me had hit one of his own. Well well. That wouldn’t go down well back home. If I could have smiled, I would. But then, how can I? I’m a bullet. At least I hit my target.