The dense fog sinks to the ground and conceals the officer’s body underneath a blanket, gray as his skin.
View of the gun sharpens amongst blurred surroundings as it pierces the thick air, firing eight rounds toward the man fleeing for the abandoned rail car on the other side of the tracks, praying the rusted metal will block the approaching bullets.
One final shot strikes underneath his left shoulder blade. I crumple to the ground as he crumples, face first, heart bleeding onto the gravel.
“I said, hands behind your back!”
Does he not realize we’ve stopped breathing?
word count: 98
This is dedicated to Walter L. Scott, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, and all of my fathers, brothers, and sons who have lost their lives to men sworn to “protect and serve.”
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge where you must write a story in 100 words or less using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to ready other stories and add your own.