Monster

Flash Fiction #34

I walk down the dark alley, knowing full well what is lurking in the shadows, out of sight. I can feel its presence. Am I still the hunter or the hunted? Debatable, depending on what will happen next.

I check my trusted horsemen’s pistol, loaded with a hallowed silver bullet engraved with the number of the beast, sure to kill any devil spawn. I better not miss; close-quarter combat is not my forte, and I’m not sure my sabre will work against that unearthly monstrosity.

My other hand rests on the cool brass hilt, brushing over the initials JLM carved into the top with my thumb, smoothened flat by time and touch; its blade has lost nothing of its brutal cutting power, easily severing limbs and heads, as it has done countless times.

Myth has it this sabre was forged from a strange metal that had fallen from the sky one starlit night centuries ago, lighter than steel, harder than anything known to man, and quite useful in disposing of hellspawn by the dozen when you run out of bullets. Whether or not that was true, whether Le Marchant was the creator of this sabre is irrelevant. The only thing relevant right now is that I get a clean shot at that creature before it tears me to shreds.

My footsteps echo faintly down into the darkness. A few more meters and it will devour me, swallow me whole. The light cannot penetrate there, where the beast awaits. Pistol raised, I proceed with focused breath. I feel my pulse quicken. Stay calm. Steady now. Aim. Don’t miss. Don’t miss or else…

I turn the corner, ready to fire, when I hear the sob of a child—a trick. The beast can change its form. I must shoot. I must kill it, but I see nothing. Only a dead end, and from behind the wooden crates in the corner, the crying of a girl. I lower my pistol.

“Hello?”

The whimper ceases. I realise that the creature is scared to death and hiding from me—from the monster. To my surprise, I holster my weapon and raise both hands to assure her that I mean her no harm.

“It’s alright. You can come out now. I won’t hurt you.”

I see no monster. Only a little girl in rags, terrified, peeking out from behind her hiding place with wide eyes, dishevelled, arms as thin as paper.

That was the night I found out that I was a murderer. I have murdered fathers, mothers, and children in the name of all that is holy because I was told they were monsters; I was told it was either them or us, and I believed it. I believed it for so long that I lost sight of what was right or wrong, doing what I thought was right, without question, without doubt, only to find myself on the wrong side. That night, I doubted. I questioned, and I made a choice.

I chose mercy.

I had this image (from Malta) sitting in my draft section since June, and it was high time for a little tale to accompany it. After another week of good progress with Spherean, I thought I’d do a bit of flash fiction for a change, and next week, we’ll have another FotoFriday.

Besides Spherean, I’m also working on releasing Carter as a physical book before the end of the year. I'll share more about that once the editing is finished. Soon!

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