“I am not staying here, honey,” you said, but I was thinking ahead. I felt the cold steel of the blade in my pocket. All I had to do was get you into that room, and then it would be too late.
“We’ll just check it out sweetheart.” The night hid my grim expression and my voice was calm and reassuring. I’d had lots of practice.
We entered and threw the bags onto the bed, the flashing red, white and blue lightbulbs of the motel sign highlighted unnameable stains on the colourless bedlinen.
“I’ll just take a leak,” I said, as I made for the bathroom.
They were far from famous, as last words go.
“Bye bye, honey,” I caught the laugh in your voice, but felt no pain as your bullet entered the back of my head, passed through my skull and embedded itself into the drab wallpaper.
No time to wonder why. No time for regrets.
Time was for the living.
Roger Shipp challenges us each week to write some flash fiction for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner with a photo prompt he provides and a few words that we are encouraged, but not obliged, to include somewhere in the story.