Wandering Ends A Flash Fiction Collection

The Last Trip

In the end, it was not worth it. I knew it was going bad right from the start. The signs were all there. Jimmy, Mike, Sam, we all knew something was off. I can't explain it, it's just one of those feelings you get and we all had it.

"Shut up in there!" That guy never stops. Damn close spaces will drive you nuts.

The cells in here are almost on top of each other. You can hear the guy next door breathing like he is in your cell with you. You can smell when they defecate. The conditions are appalling.

We were sightseeing. Stopping at brothels, local pubs, sipping on local brews; we were enjoying the excursion. We had been planning this since high school. We have known each other since kindergarten.

On the flight from Amsterdam to Budapest, we enjoyed a couple drinks. The next thing we knew we were waking up in the back of a van. The windows must have been painted black because I could not see a thing outside. I could hear muffled voices and tried to respond but I had been gagged.

"Will somebody shut that guy up!" I swear if he doesn't shut up I'm going to reach through the bars and strangle him.

We had finally arrived at wherever it is we stopped. The masked men opened the back doors, charged in, and prodded us out. Jimmy, Mike, and Sam hit the ground and started running. They shot all three in the back of their heads. I bawled as they shoved my face in the dirt. I cried the whole way to the cell I am in now. I ran out of tears about an hour ago.

Finally, the guards are coming to shut my neighbor up. They are walking right past his cell into mine. The guy with the gun is poking me in the side with it, I guess telling me to stand up but he doesn't speak English. A noose is being wrapped around my neck. The top of the rope being tied to the pipes on the ceiling. The three guards yank the rope. This is my last thought; what a trip.