Home > Flash Fiction, Horror, Were > The End is a Beginning

The End is a Beginning

With my post falling on the last day of the year, I couldn’t help but write about change. It just seemed like the right story to tell. I hope you like it.

L. E. White


I could see the bullet in the air. It was moving, but it was like I was watching a movie. There weren’t any ripples in the air as it flew, but I could still see it. I watched it fly across the clearing. I watched it hit Jeff, my boyfriend, in the chest. I watched him fly backwards, thrown into the air by the force of a little piece of steel which had slammed into him.

I didn’t know why some crazy red neck had brought a shotgun to a party around a campfire, but I knew it was a bad thing. When I asked about it, everyone just shook their heads and said he was worried about wild dogs. The answer wasn’t good enough, but I just moved away from him and grabbed a drink. It was a party. Nobody else seemed to have a problem with it, so I did my best to drink my problem with the gun away.

Then the argument had started. There had been yelling and spitting and shoving until the guy lifted his gun up to point it at the other man’s head. That guy must not have been as drunk, or maybe he was just better at hiding it. I didn’t know, but I watched him dodge to the side and grab the barrel to keep the shotgun from getting pointed at his head again. The gun went off.

Now I admit that I am really just a city girl. I know nothing about my dad’s guns. I thought all shotguns were filled with buck shot. I didn’t know they had bullets. The one that I saw had little lines wrapping around it like the blades of a fan. The bullet spun in the air like the football when my dad was trying to teach my brother to throw a pass.

I turned back, away from the body that bounced on the ground, and looked at the guy with the gun. When I did, I realized I was looking right down the barrel. The fighters were still struggling and now the gun was aimed at me.

There was a loud cracking sound, the weapon jerked in both of their hands, and I got to see another slug come out.

I wanted to dodge, but my body wasn’t moving as fast as my brain was. I stood still, staring, as the bullet hit me just above my left breast. I felt a burning flash in my chest at the same time that I felt air rush past my ears before I the ground.

A second after I landed, I felt a wave of pain wash over me. I didn’t realize I could hurt so much, but every part of my body was popping and cracking. My limbs jerked like I was having a seizure and I felt explosions all over. White light flashed in front of my eyes a few times and then the clearing lit up like someone had walked over and flipped on a light switch.

All of a sudden, I could see everything in high definition. I don’t know what it was about dying, but every leaf that rustled in the soft breeze above me was sharp and in focus. I saw a spider on its web between two dead limbs, and I could see it wrapping a moth up in delicate, glassy thread.

My sense of smell changed, and I was horrified to think that the last thing I would ever smell was the sweat of the people around me. As I gasped and choked on the pain that erupted inside of me, I noticed the perfume of the girl that we had just been talking too. I knew that there were more than three different beers around the fire and that someone had brought pizza.

My stomach cramped down in a spasm of hunger at the pizza. I had eaten before we came here, but dying was making me hungry. I smelled the coppery sweat smell of blood and I felt drool puddle in the back of my throat. I could hear people screaming, but all I could think about was getting something to eat.

I managed to swallow and I closed my eyes. The world went black, and at the same time, most of the pain disappeared. People were screaming and cursing, but as I listened, the words became distorted. It was getting harder to understand them even though each word sounded sharper. I was almost sure I could even hear one person’s teeth chattering.

“What the fuckin hell?”

That voice came through loud and clear. In my mind, I saw an image that looked like an old black and white photo of the fire. I could see everyone standing around it like manikins in a window. Above the head of the man who had shot me was a comic book bubble with the words inside of it.

He changed then, when I realized he was standing there and staring at me as I struggled with the pain from my wound. His manikin grew brighter as color flooded into it. I knew where he was. How he had stopped struggling with the other guy who had been fighting and how he was staring at me. His stood there, eyes bugged out and jaw hanging open.

There was a moment where he was in full color, but then he turned red. It was like someone had just flicked on a big red spot light and aimed it at him. I could still imagine all the details. The pattern of his flannel shirt and the scuffed cowboy boots he had been strutting around in. But now it was all just different shades of one color.


I opened my eyes, and I was amazed that the world still looked the same. Everyone was in black and white except for the man who shot me.

I felt my lip curl back from my teeth as I focused on him. Everyone was moving away from him as I stood up, and I wondered if they could all see my ghost. After all the pain, I was sure I had to be dead, but I felt like I was getting up. I could feel the leaves and grass under my bare feet and it took a moment before I considered that I was wearing shoes when he had shot me.

I felt my chest vibrate before I heard what sounded like a big dog growling. It didn’t make any sense though, I hadn’t seen a dog. I usually paid a lot of attention to dogs. I thought they were pretty but they were always afraid of me. They would growl and snap no matter how nice I was to them. When I looked around, I saw everyone backing away, but I never saw the dog.

When my eyes landed on the guy with the shot gun, I felt a wave of heat spread out over my body. He had that stupid shotgun pointed at me again, but the booze was making him shake. I smelled the acidic stench of urine and noticed the spreading dark spot on his jeans and that made me happy. He had pissed himself when he saw my ghost rise up. He deserved to be afraid.

He deserved to hurt. He deserved to suffer like I had. He deserved to die for killing me.

The darkness around me seemed to get blacker and the asshole with the gun seemed to get larger. It was like I was watching a movie where the camera was zooming in on the face of the bad guy right before he got what he deserved.

And that was the last thing I remember before waking up. I am alone. I am still in the clearing and the remains of the fire are still smoking. There is blood and gore everywhere around me. Pieces of people from the party are scattered all around the clearing, and I am covered in blood.

But somehow, I am still alive. My chest hurts, but I can’t find a bullet hole.

I am so confused.

Categories: Flash Fiction, Horror, Were Tags:
  1. December 31, 2014 at 9:08 PM

    Wicked cool! I like it!

    • January 1, 2015 at 12:56 PM

      Thank you. It was fun to write.

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