Dillinger Ascending
A Microfiction - 200 Words
A gunshot shook the empty bank.
Sofia folded, dropping the cash.
Angela lowered the gun, eyes cruelly delighted. The hippie-dippy medium I communed with three months ago gone.
That cruelty reminded me of dark farmhouses, violent promises. Not Angela; a revenant.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Floyd,” she replied.
“Hell are you doing in Kansas? Purvis killed you in Ohio."
"Chicago for you."
"Four shots. You?"
"One. That’s all it takes."
“Guessing this ain’t chance.”
“Who wouldn’t want to follow the legendary Johnny Dillinger?”
"Listen, all legends die the same. Ain’t romantic.”
“Gotta know. ‘Gotta know who’s better.”
Sofia screamed. Her agony stirred strength in us.
Angela rejected the possession.
"Out, you moon-faced fuck!" she roared.
"Pretty Boy" Floyd peeled away from her like a sweaty shirt.
"Never understood your nickname.”
Psychic ether propelling me, I catapulted at Floyd. Collision. Spirits intertwined. Terrifying violation. Spirits descending, defiant angels. Last stop, hell.
Angela helped Sofia stand.
“Cash,” Sofia grunted.
Money in tow, they retreated.
Sacrifice. Recompense.
Spirits separated, a black maw opened, consuming Floyd. Reduced to a thread, his scream became an agonized whisper, became silence.
A pool of light opened above.
“Dillinger ascending. Not bad.”
Spectral shackles fell away. Light.
About the Creator
Mack Devlin
Writer, educator, and follower of Christ. Passionate about social justice. Living with a disability has taught me that knowledge is strength.
We are curators of emotions, explorers of the human psyche, and custodians of the narrative.
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