Drops of water fell regularly on the wooden floor like a steady beat. The rocking chair the old woman sat in swung peacefully in the light evening breeze.
Staring into the dark, she counted the drops in her head. One, two, three...
From time to time she lost her train of thought and started again.
Concentrating on the counting, she didn't hear the footsteps approaching.
"Good evening, grandma", a hoarse male voice greeted her.
"Good evening, grandson", she heard herself saying, still counting the drops.
"It's been long time since you last visited me."
The footsteps came nearer until he stood right behind her. Then he placed a kiss on her cheek. The strong smell of alcohol was undeniable even for a woman of her age. A tear made its way down her face and he brushed it away with a clean tissue.
"I'm sorry, I won't stay long", he wispered into her ear before putting the gun to her head.
"One. Two. Three.", he counted and a shot cut through the silence of the descend night.
The rocking chair didn't move anymore.
The man hurried into the house, grabbing jewellery and money. On his way out, he stopped at the doorstep to take a look at his dead grandma. She had believed in family love until her last breath.
As he left, he heard them too. Two lines of drops, one red, one blue. One violent, one peaceful. Plus the one in his imagination made three. The burning drops running down his throat.
And so he continued counting: "One, two, three..."
YOU ARE READING
One Two Three
Random"One. Two. Three." He said and a shot cut through the silence of the descend night. A short short story with a twist.
