Reblog of a favorite Flash Fiction of mine.
So I sat in a box for the last, oh, I don’t know, seven years? Just sat there on a shelf with dozens of other boxes on other shelves with the others and I am finally free.
I don’t know who opened the box and put me in the chamber of freedom, but his fingers were fat like crinkled sausages and they smelled like shit. I guess some uprights never wash their hands.
“There you go my pet,” the upright says. “You are such a special little bullet. You were born to do great things. You are going to change history, my pet.”
The upright talks a lot.
It’s freaking dark in here. I have waited my entire life to get out of that damn box. I am a special bullet. I don’t mingle with common bullets.
Seven years I have waited for this. I don’t know what to expect. I just hear the voice. I guess the voice thinks I can’t understand, but I can. I hear it talk about me. It talks about my velocity, my speed and my distance.
It’s weird, you know? I don’t know what any of it means.
I can hear the upright speak as I sit here waiting for my moment of glory. He told me I was going to change history. I don’t know what that means really… but it sounds important.
Before the upright put me in here, it held me close to where the voice comes out. It told me all these things.
“You’re so beautiful,” it says.
“You are the most special bullet ever, little bullet. You are going to make poppa so proud,” the voice cries.
I wanted to concur or validate the voices wishes. But what the hell, I’m just a bullet after all. A special bullet it tells me. But I don’t know what the means. I don’t even know what my purpose is.
“Oh, special bullet. Be straight and true with your aim, young one. Guide your soul into the heart of that bastard and save us all,” the voice screams.
The upright put me in something cold and long. It’s dark in here.
Wait. I just heard a loud bang and now I am zooming through the air toward another upright. I don’t understand any of this.
Now I am in something hot, dark and wet. This is so odd. I was happy in my box with the others. I don’t feel so special anymore. Where is the voice?
I hear other voices now. They are making high-pitched noises. They are screaming, “He’s shot! He’s shot!”
My shell is gone. I am now a flat piece of metal.
I still don’t feel special.