Flash Fiction: Number One with a Bullet — Blue Ink Alchemy
The soldier emerged from the water, as silently as possible. The fort was made to repel entire armies, not one man. He crept through the corridors, storerooms and shadows. Every step brought him closer to his goal. The general was bent over his map. The one who'd killed the soldier's friends, and then ordered his home put to the torch. The soldier drew his pistol. He moved as slowly and quietly as possible. He took aim, drew back the hammer, pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The general turned and guards rushed in. The soldier regarded his weapon. Wet powder.
Blue Ink Alchemy
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