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Prepared, by Jim Bartlett

1/3/2019

 
He turns into the short alley, keeping his pace steady, his breaths deep. Training. Running this distance is all about the training. Back when he’d first started, he’d checked this route, time and again – plenty of visibility, no tripping hazards, no dogs, no unexpected delivery trucks popping out – and then began running it three times a week. It took him nearly six months to build up the endurance, even though he was young and it was only a four mile trek. But, with sheer determination, good preparation, and wearing the right gear – top-notch running shoes, loose shirt and pants, and a good heavy backpack - he soon nailed it, the run becoming almost second nature.

Shooting out from the alley, he cuts along a back street, staying close to the fence line and away from the traffic. This is the only section of his route that takes him close to a roadway, and even though it’s a residential area, he keeps his eyes peeled. Watching. Ever ready.

Prepared.

Then, from somewhere behind, seemingly over and above his left shoulder, he hears a rumble in the sky. A forceful stirring of the wind that sends fear deep into his bones. It closes in, the rumble becoming a loud roar, an ominous growl. It churns his adrenaline, and he reaches deep inside, pressing his pace faster and faster, his legs stretching out longer.

He breathes hard. Quick.

It’s right over him now, despite his pace, his training, his preparedness. Its reverberation makes the cement quiver below him, the fence boards along his side rattle and shake. A tornado-like blast of foul heated air crashes into the tress, their branches swaying and rocking, throwing a flurry of leaves onto the parked cars and blanketing the street.

He closes his eyes. Clenches his fists. Pushes even harder.

But it’s not enough. From just above, a voice cuts through the roar, angrily shouting out from a loudspeaker on the helicopter. “This is the police! Stop now! Throw down your weapon and drop to the sidewalk, arms and legs spread out!”

He legs stop on their own, just as two police cars screech around the corner ahead, their lights flashing, sirens blaring. Defeated, he tosses his gun to the side, unhooks his backpack stuffed with the bank’s money and lays it on the curb, and then drops to the concrete, spreading out as if making angel wings in the snow.

He thought for sure he was prepared. Ready.
​

But so were they...
Doug
2/3/2019 01:07:44 am

Jim, you did it again. Nice job!

Jim link
2/3/2019 03:52:01 am

Thanks Doug!! Glad you enjoyed the story, and thanks for the comment!

Jim

Michael McCartht
2/3/2019 11:14:17 am

Excellent Jim, loved, in particular, the para after word Prepared. Great ending as usual, did not see it coming.
Mike

Jim link
2/3/2019 04:09:27 pm

Thanks so much Mike! Especially appreciate your comments on the descriptions, having come from a master such as yourself!
Jim


Comments are closed.

    Longer
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    Longer Friday Flash Fiction Stories

    Friday Flash Fiction is primarily a site for stories of 100 words or fewer, and our authors are expected to take on that challenge if they possibly can. Most stories of under 150 words can be trimmed and we do not accept submissions of 101-150 words.


    However, in response to demand, the FFF team constructed this forum for significantly longer stories of 151-500 words. Please send submissions for these using the Submissions Page.

    Stories to the 500 word thread will be posted as soon as we can mange.

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    One little further note. Posting and publishing 500-word stories takes a little time if they need to be formatted, too.
    ​Please note that we tend to post longer flash fiction exactly as we find it – wrong spacing, everything.

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