Feature: Flash fiction by @danielleleezwis #amwriting

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Danielle Zwisller fiction books



Danielle has set herself an amazing flash fiction challenge of writing one short story everyday for a year. Danielle has been kind enough to write a short story called Witness especially for Go Book Yourself

Flash fiction:


Witness 

Danielle Lee Zwissler 

Part of a Flash Fiction Exercise… 

I sat in the back of the old protestant church and listened to the pastor go over his spiel. The people in the front few rows expressed their hallelujahs and their amens as the people in the back were a little less talkative, or at least not as expressing as the others. I heard the hypocrites beside me discuss the pastor’s wife’s clothes, and how she could have ‘taken more time’ and at least ‘tried’ with her makeup. This is to say if the woman had time after dealing with her lying pastor husband’s affairs and his righteous behavior. I looked to my right, where the pastor’s son sat playing his Nintendo ds, volume turned all the way down to nothing, and to directly behind me where there were three little old ladies discussing the affairs of several of the people whom resided in the congregation. It was a place full of sin, rivalling Hell. 

I stood at the end of the service and closed my bible. I walked over to where the pastor was, shook his hand, then made my way out of the small church. Nice cars and trucks littered the parking lot, and people, as soon as the service had ended, pulled out their cellular phones and began their routine of checking messages and Facebook. I continued my trek past them, and then over to the small diner where my ‘usual’ table sat lonely and uninhabited. 

“Sup, Morie,” a cook from the back said and nodded toward me. “Usual?” 

I nodded and opened my bible once more. I looked at several verses that I had been collecting over the years. Several were more terrifying than the next. It wasn’t uncommon for a person like me to find solace in such words. 

Nobody knew me, nobody knew why I went to church, or how long I’d been going. Nobody knew what my real name was, or that I’d been in prison three times before, or that I enjoyed watching women squirm, and hearing the cries of small children. Nobody knew a thing… 

God knows, I heard the whisper in my head once again. I swallowed, and tried to get rid of the bile in my throat. Yes, God knew. 

God knew everything, like where I hid the bodies, where the weapons were, where my wife’s clothes were buried, and why I killed my best friend. God knew it all.

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