Fatal

The shot spy writhed on the ground before coughing his last breath; the old, dirty blood stilled, and circles paled around his eyes. His limp hands dropped his pistol to the floor, landing in the soup of red sweat. A woman reached for the bag of money and fingered the green ink, sniffed the crisp bills, and laughed.

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1 comment so far

  1. Michelle Johnson on

    something tells me the scheme was foiled. great write. hope all is well.


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