The Swords of the Ancients

Courtesy of Sonia M. over at Doing the Write Thing, I’ve discovered this month’s writing challenge. So, in response, here is my story. I call it “Hearing.”

I should have listened with both ears instead of one. Things might have been different tonight. I’d been warned, and I heard them, yeah, but I didn’t listen. That’s the critical bit, I suppose. Ah, hindsight.

I glanced down at my right leg, the small pool of blood collecting near my feet finally drawing my attention. “I suppose I deserve that, don’t I?” I muttered, looking for something to use as a bandage. “Screw it. There’s not much left in me anyway.” I glanced out the window. The helicopter lights were growing closer, and I could hear the increasing wail of the sirens. “Well, at least I know where I stand,” I chuckled, knowing full well that I would be lucky if I could sit up straight by the time they got to the otherwise empty apartment I was hiding out in.

I guess you could say that I regretted the way things had gone. I mean, if I’d truly listened, I would have seen it coming. Too late, though. They wouldn’t let me go now. The phone began to ring, and I, out of habit, answered it. “What?”

“Are you listening now?”

“More than ever.”

“You have one chance.”

“What do I do?”

“You know.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Good. If you truly mean it, you know what to do.”

“I love you.”

Click.

I dropped the phone and my gun in the crimson on the floor.

I raised my hands and I waited, patiently listening to approaching sirens.