I missed two weeks of Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction. Here’s one, called Desolate…
The gun, heavy in his hand, tasted funny in his mouth.
He couldn’t remember ever the flavour of steel before, but it reminded him of bleeding.
He inhaled and pulled the trigger.
He couldn’t bear the weight in his mouth any longer, of being alive any longer.
And in the split second before he lost consciousness, he glimpsed a world even more desolate that the one he was leaving behind.