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Hunted: A Very Short Story

The searchers moved like ghosts around the room. Wedged behind the file cabinet, I held my breath. My heart thundered in my chest; couldn’t they hear it? One cheek was pressed tightly against the cold metal and icy tendrils spread painfully across my face. A drop of sweat made its halting way down my back. Then something metallic caressed one ear and the click of the gun was as loud as an exploding bomb. There was a whisper of perfume. “Nice to see you, Jackson,” purred my wife.






[From imagery practice activity for G10, 2020.]

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