Number12's Nanofiction collection, Page 53

Pawn


07-26-01

Bob adjusted his tinfoil hat. He lay behind a hill as the motorcade approached. "Now!" the voices hissed. He rose and aimed his weapon, but bullets hit him from behind. The President looked up as bodyguards fanned out. Bob lay scared. He'd failed. "No," said the voices, "You did just right." Their light enveloped him.




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