Caught At The Bottom

From his vantage point, Josh could see their faces, those who weren’t masked anyway. The zealotry was apparent on both sides.

The blows, unintentional at this point, kept coming. Boots rammed into his hip. Someone stepped on his right hand, the one that had been holding the rainbow sign, and he felt the bones snap. He stopped struggling as everything went numb.

All Josh discerned now were their eyes. He realized they saw nothing outside of their own preconceived notions. They looked at the men and woman across from them with hatred.

And these were the people he agreed with.

A Killer

I should have sensed him as I entered the room, guessed that he was crouched in the corner silently watching me. As I reached for a bowl he dashed out from his hiding place. I shrieked as I brought the bowl down repeatedly onto his body. I didn’t stop until his insides spilled out beyond the edges of his cool smooth skin. His head was pressed over the edge of the sink in an unnatural position, as if dreaming of escape from a deranged woman wielding a bowl. I'm a killer; this unfortunate salamander’s life taken in five horrible blows.

From Guest Contributor Natashia Smith

Natashia writes poetry and flash fiction. She has been published at: 50-Word Stories, Friday Flash Fiction and Postcard Shorts.