a story
violencestrong languageflash-fiction
2015-05-28 19:11:52,
2015-05-28 19:13:59
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when you ask Bird to kill things

“Three hours. It’s been three damn hours and this blasted human won’t leave the bloody pub!” thought Bird as she looked through a small scope. She had been there for hours, waiting to finish off this one man, a man who couldn’t keep his wallet and his mouth closed when it came to drink. His wife and neighbors and even the town magistrate gave Bird a great amount of coin and extended her permit to sell her tea in their town in exchange for riddling this one commoner with as many bullets as could be fired. So she perched on top of a hill overlooking this small backwater town and set up shop. The sun started to overheat her hood and helmet which sat beside her to the point where the water for her tea began steaming when placed on top of the metal.

5 hours later, the man hadn’t left yet. “He better not be drunk,” muttered Bird but she quickly laughed under her breath as the man stumbled out the door. Bird followed him with her sights lined up until he approached the town square, the place where he was to die. The man reached the middle of the square… BAM! Headshot. BAM! Another head shot, tearing off his face. Bird then flipped a switched and unleashed a rain of lead. Bullet after bullet flew into the human, none missed its point. Bird then stopped firing and looked to see the damage. “You have got to be kidding me,” Bird muttered and she stood up and packed her gear into her cart. She then took a small revolver and walked down the hill. Her trench coat let go of its dust and Bird appeared to be a demon walking out of the sands to those who saw her. Everyone ran for cover so it was just the poor wretch and Bird in the square. Bird approached the barely breathing wreck of a human and took off her mask and smiled. A blood curdling scream was heard and then a single gunshot. Bird left town immediately after that, leaving the poor folk to clean their own mess.