1944

Danielle was standing in the kitchen when a knock came, shattering the tense silence. A big white plate slipped from her hands with a start, breaking into a thousand pieces on the floor. She stared at the shards for a moment, mind numb, until the doorbell again wrenched her to consciousness. With shaky hands she turned the lock and opened the door. In a hushed whisper she took a plain brown package and eased the door shut, then sank to the floor with her back against it’s cold white paint. With a pop she broke the bit of tape holding the package closed, and with a rasp of paper revealed the contents.

She had never held a gun before, it felt cold as ice in her clammy fist. She had never killed anyone before, it felt foreign to her frightened mind but she knew it was the right thing to do. The magazine made a satisfactory snicking sound as it locked into place.

He came around eight, as usual on a Monday night. The knock echoed through the empty house and washed over her where she sat in the foyer. The slide was harder than she’d expected, cool metal resisting her slender fingers. She released it as she stood, and with a clack the first bullet was thrust into the chamber, hammer poised and waiting to pounce. The lock opened with a click, and the door handle turned without so much as a whisper. His excited smile, crooked as ever beneath that pompous hat, slid completely from his face as Danielle raised the pistol, staring past the sights and into his eyes. The gunshot was far louder than she expected, louder than she would have believed possible. It was still ringing in her ears when the sirens began to howl.


300w