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UnkaDunk

December 7, 2014

Much as I love poetry and fine literature, one thing I enjoy on a chill winter’s eve is to snuggle down in my favourite chair with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a work of fictional murder.

So naturally, as a flash fiction writer, Crime is a genre I’m drawn to from time to time, my leanings being toward the darker, more outlandish end of the spectrum, as in the following 150-word story about a retiring hitman, his niece and his rather novel modus operandi…

UNKADUNK
Paul Beech

Alone on the terrace, he drew on the moist night air to calm his nerves. Corruption in high places. He was going to name names. Almost time.
“Mr Mallory?”
He turned then ducked as a fighter jet buzzed his woolly white crown and didn’t even see the upswinging boot that connected with his chin.
It was over in an instant.
***
A nondescript middle-aged man is creosoting his fence. Mallory was his last job. Duncan is free now and looking forward to seeing his niece this afternoon. Kirsty has promised a retirement present for her beloved UnkaDunk.
She knows about his whistling denture, of course. And how he can mimic a MiG-21…
Time to clear up.
***
Kirsty gave him her gift beneath the old yew, and comprehension dawned a split-second before the MiG. The small box contained a freshly extracted gnasher…
Her first job. Dearest UnkaDunk, goodbye.

-oOo-

Copyright © Paul Beech 2014

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4 Comments
  1. Maureen Weldon permalink

    I laughed a little and shuddered a little at the thought of the ‘freshly extracted gnasher in a box’
    Paul a grand succinct short story, as indeed Flash Fiction should be.

    Maureen Weldon

    • Maureen, so you laughed a little and shuddered a little… I’m so chuffed! This is exactly how I hoped my weird wee offering would be enjoyed. A most heartening comment – thank you!

      Paul x

  2. Dear Paul,

    Just had my computer returned to me last evening. I made my cup of morning tea, and a delicious home made oatmeal raisin cookie and headed to my beloved computer to read your flash fiction.

    My oh my, what a surprise I got, but what about poor Duncan, and on his birthday yet. However now she is out there, scary.

    Great flash fiction. It left me wanting more.

    Have a great day :o)

    Regards,

    Pat

    • Dear Pat,

      I love your comment – thank you. It’s still dark here, a raw wind gusting up the valley, as I reply over an early morning cuppa. Wish I had one of your delicious cookies to go with it.

      Aye, poor Duncan, retiring after a long career of bumping people off, only to be despatched by his beloved niece. I guess he knew too much. Scary it is indeed that Kirsty is out there now, with a denture of her own. Still, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, as they say…

      Best wishes for the festive season,

      Paul

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