Flash Fiction (Stories under 1000 words)

Spilled Milk

The job was supposed to be fast. Clean. Nobody gets hurt. 

Easy money. 

“We’re in, we’re out. And nobody’s the wiser until we’re long gone.” That’s what JJ said. Brian agreed to the job because he needed the money, that was all. 

“Meet at Warehouse 16, tomorrow night. 11:00.” 

“You’re sure no one’s home.” 

“I’m sure.”

Brian showed right on schedule, seeing JJ and some other unfamiliar men already loading up a big black van for the job. They had guns. 

“Good, you’re here,” JJ said, handing Brian a loaded shotgun, that shone a shiny black in the moonlight. 

“What is this for?” Brian said, a cold stare in his eyes.

“Relax. It’s just a precaution. Just in case something goes wrong.”

Brian felt a knot in his stomach. Get out now while you still can! That’s what his gut told him as he rode for miles in the back of the van, the gun like an anvil sitting in his lap. 

The house was huge. JJ said it belonged to some guy in the paper industry. Funny how you could make so much dough off of something so simple as paper. But then again, what was money made out of?

Brian didn’t know all the details of the how the got in. Some guy called Jones was there for the security, he was just here for an extra hand. 

The safe was lined with cash, and the women’s room was full of pearls, diamonds, and pretty much every other precious jewel known to man. Bags and bags of money. Time to head out. 

Then a scream. JJ’s scream. He was wrong. A guard was left. 

Brian watched the struggle raising his gun as the two wrestled over JJ’s. 

“Take the shot Bri! Take the shot!” 

Slow breaths. He felt the coldness of the trigger. He shot. He missed.

JJ finally took the man down, pushing him to the ground and then giving him a bullet in the head. 

That’s when Brian saw it. 

The child, no more than 8, maybe 7 years old. He had fallen on the coffee table when the bullet hit him. A motionless figure covered in red...and white. He had fallen on his glass of milk, spilling it all over himself and the living room floor. Brian had shot him. He was murderer.

He turned to JJ, raising his gun in blind rage. 

“You said no one would get hurt! Said it was an easy job!”

“So what are gonna do, kill me too?”

Brian lowered the gun in shame and exhaustion. 

“Stuff happens man,” JJ said. “It’s done. You know what they say.” He smirked and nodded to the young boy on the coffee table. 

“No use crying over spilled milk.”