The Waiting Room
Just another waiting room. Clean, white, and functional. Eight seats and a map of the world.
It had a big frosted window at the end, reminiscent of a ship’s porthole.
They waited patiently in line outside, behind a closed door. Each one had his numbered ticket in hand.
There were no smiles and no conversations. With their free hands they each held a black leather briefcase and either gazed into space or turned their regard inwards.
A loudspeaker erupted from out of nowhere.
“The candidates can go into the inner waiting room and take a seat. Please respect the order written on your tickets.”
They entered without a word.
All nine of them.
They sat silently, each one after the other, until they realised that there were only 8 seats.
They had been trained for action.
The last to enter unclasped his briefcase and plunged his hand inside, reaching for his gun.
The eight others were much faster, and eight single bullets to the heart stopped him.
From the loudspeaker came a soft male voice.
“Please dispose of the body through the porthole and await instructions.”
They waited. (189 words)
It’s Sunday and therefore Sunday Photo Fiction Day. Thanks again Donna for this wonderful weekly challenge.
My feature photo was taken in Napier, New Zealand and I thought it looked better in Black and White than in colour.