What follows is a piece of flash fiction my 15-year old daughter wrote for a class.
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Unbearable pain coursed through me as I lay on the sun-warmed earth. Warm blood oozed from my chest were I had been shot a few moments ago. My breath came out in shallow puffs as I thought about my wife, Cora.
I closed my eyes and pictured her the day I left for Boston. She was wearing blue, my favorite color. Her strawberry waves caressed her freckled, rosy cheeks. Her blue eyes sparkled; those were the things that attracted me to her first. Then I became enraptured with her kindness and compassion.
A tear slipped down my cheek and pain shot through me as I shook with a single sob. We were going to start a family. We were going to have five kids and now we can’t because of me. I had gotten in too deep with the wrong people. I owed what I didn’t have. Cora never found out, I made certain of that. I couldn’t pay up, so they got rid of me. They promised me they wouldn’t hurt her.
More sobs shook my body and the pain became unbearable. My fingers dug into the soft dirt as I began to lose consciousness. I had to hold on. All I ever wanted was to make her happy. Someone will find me dead behind an abandoned warehouse and call the police. The police will identify me and call Cora. She’ll be devastated. I couldn’t bear the thought any longer now that it consumed my mind.
So, I let go.