Final Hour: Flash Fiction Results For Monday’s Muse Jan. 25 2016

Thursday has come upon us and with it, my results for Monday's Muse. Be sure to check out the original posting with rules should you feel the itch to give this writing prompt a try! You can do so by clicking HERE.

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Final Hour

Nearly twenty two years under his belt with retirement to a nice quiet, cushy, uneventful life, right on the other side of midnight, and this had to happen. He let out a breath of resignation and stared into the dark coffee in his mug.

He’d been working this site for the last six months. He’d already ‘handled’ his mark but had been instructed to stay on the wire until the final hour of his assignment.

The final hour.

“So I hear you’re ready to go on to greener pastures.” The man, a newbie, smiled at him, a cup of coffee in his hand as well. His face held no signs of treachery, but his clean fingers and pale skin gave him away. Did the bastard think he was that stupid?

He gave a quick smirk and sloshed the coffee around in the cup and with a scrutinizing eye watched as tiny specks of oil clung to the sides of the white porcelain. He raised the cup to his face and took a whiff and closer look, careful to keep the stuff from touching his mouth even though he feigned drinking.

Yep, definitely poison. But to be offered a knock off in such a pathetic way bruised his ego almost as much as the curiosity as to who would want him dead in the first place especially when he was going ghost. He was done with this life. He’d started early in years, worked hard and wanted to spend what was left of it being dull and boring.

Heck, he might even get himself a wife and a kid or two. He was definitely going to get a dog. He’d always wanted one of those.  “Yeah,” He said, pulling the coffee cup away from his face. “I figured it was time to move on, do something that required a little less wear and tear if you get what I mean.”

The man nodded and plowed ahead into several minutes of empty conversation. That was good. It afforded the opportunity to pull the mug up in an attempt to drink and then lower it right before doing so in an attempt to answer every stupid question the amateur was asking. By the time his break was nearly over the coffee was as ice cold as his talkative companion was going to be by the end of that evening.

He glanced down at his watch and sighed. “Man, my break is almost up. Welcome aboard though. It was a pleasure talking to you.” He began to walk away, noting the anxious tick that quivered by the guy’s eye, his gaze lingering on the deadly cup of black.

The guy followed him. Good. That was going to make things much easier. “You didn’t finish your coffee.”  He tried to sound casual, watching as it was dumped onto the ground.

“I don’t like cold coffee. We talked too much and let it turn over. Its alright though.” He took the long way behind the trailer office and into the bathroom. His friend still on his heels.

He pitied the guy as he readied himself for one more job. Nobody wanted to die in the restroom.

He made quick work of him and set him in a storage locker before heading out himself. He’d deal with his body after hours.

Last job? Who was he kidding? Someone had wanted him dead, and he would be a dead man if he didn’t find out who and soon.

His final hour had suddenly turned into a brand new shift.

THE END

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8 thoughts on “Final Hour: Flash Fiction Results For Monday’s Muse Jan. 25 2016

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