(100 word flash fiction)
She gazed up from the asphalt at the open window from which she had just been thrown, desperately willing his face not to appear.
She couldn’t move. A chill was moving up from her legs. Her vision was starting to fade as blood seeped into her eyes.
She heard footsteps. Furtive ones. Then, his voice in her ear, a menacing whisper, “You don’t get to decide when to leave. I do.”
His smell, once loved, now loathed, filled her nostrils, gushed into her lungs sucking the breath out of her.
That’s when she remembered the gun strapped to her waist.
A bit too graphic and literal but my muse won’t give me anything else today.
Friday Fictioneers flash fiction photo prompt is by Birthday Girl Princess Rochelle who is alsa our Prima Donna hostess.