First Attempt

This is my first attempt at writing a flash fiction. I've decided to publish this on my blog for feedback so please add your comments. However harsh!!

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Ends 20th Jan 2012

The Assassin

The tube was packed as always. I even had to queue to get on. At what point will it become too much and the archaic London Underground will no longer cope with the number of passengers. I squeezed myself into the carriage, my face instantly making contact with the armpit of an oversized city worker. I can’t even get a tissue out of my bag let alone read the paper. The train lurches forwards and I stagger slightly, smiling apologetically as I do.

Suddenly the man cries out and slumps down, only making it to a kneeling position, as the passengers part he’s lowered slowly to the floor, skimming down the tights of a well dressed lady. He lays there, still and silent, the crowd look on in stunned curiosity. Someone kneels beside him and cries out ‘he’s not breathing, help him’

The crowd animates and a young guy with floppy blond hair pushes through and starts checking the collapsed man. Blood is slowing oozing out across the floor, making its way towards my feet. I sidestep to avoid it.

The young guy stops and bows his head. ‘He’s dead’ he softly cries. The crowd gasps, some stare, some look away. ‘I think he’s been stabbed, the blood, there’s so much blood’

I realise that the train has stopped. The doors are wedged open, swiftly followed by a blast of warm, stale air. We are all told to stay where we were and wait. I was slightly agitated by these demands.

After a while, a policeman confirms the man has died. ‘It looks like the perpetrator was standing somewhere here’ he gestures wildly to the area of pooled blood. ‘We will need to speak to everyone here’

I’d been waiting about an hour before I was interviewed. ‘I didn’t see anything, I didn’t hear anything. Shocking how this could happen in such a close space’ I declared. ‘Yes, you could say I was standing close to him and I can’t believe this has happened’

 

Of course they checked in my bag, emptying the contents on the floor. Lipstick, tissues and looses sweets littered the floor. They took my details and moved on to the next passenger. I was left to pick up my things.

After a few more hours we are led away and I finally make my way out of the same station I had left earlier. My phone rings so I dig in my bag to answer it.

“He’s dead” I said, absently stroking the hidden pocket on my coat “It’s done”

“B..b..but I’ve changed my mind” came the weak reply.