Flash Fiction: The Saint


Dave said something funny the other day. I was showing him something that I wrote that lunch time at work, after just putting down Assassin because I needed to rest my brain for a second (and finish swallowing what I was chewing without throwing up).

Anyway I remember that he read it, looked at me and said; ‘you’ve already started writing about protecting children? With a gun?!’

It was funny (haha) at the time, and now that I think back on it, its funny (strange) because… I didn’t plan for children. I absolutely did not want them and now there’s two brewing inside me, waiting for freedom. And pretty much all I think about is protecting them. Continuing work so I have money to feed them. Continuing to write and hopefully making an income (even if its small) to support them. Reading to them, so they learn the value of books. Teaching them all the wonderful things my parents taught me along with all the amazing stuff I learned on my own.

Its all I think about!

But when I wrote this piece I wasn’t really thinking about my babies. In fact, before I give you a spoiler; here’s what I wrote. See if you can guess what I was thinking about before you reach the end.

The Saint

The gun was small enough to vanish into the palm of her hand. A tiny .25 Beretta with a short muzzle and sleek, silver finish. Rachel stroked it, enjoying the thrill of power which shot through her like a thousand electric volts.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
Beside her; small, shivering, face streaked with tears, a six year old boy tugged lightly on her skirt. “Do we have to go, Mummy?”
Rachel smiled. “They’re expecting us, darling, but we won’t stay long.”
“I don’t like it in there; they hurt me.”
The smile faltered. “I know, James, but I’m here now. They’ll never hurt you again.” She climbed out of the car, marching round the stationary vehicle to help her son out of the child seat. “Come on.”
Reluctant, but ever obedient, James slipped down to the ground. He put out his hand and Rachel took it, engulfing her son’s tiny fingers with her own longer, slender ones.
Hand in hand, they approached the church.

Did you get it?

Just that morning I’d read a news article about arrests linked to years of child abused in the Catholic church in Europe. I’d also been reading Khaos Komix, a comic I’ve been following for a good few years, which has reached heart rending levels of emotional turmoil as one of the characters recounts his childhood. And then, to cap it off, I’d just stopped at the end of a chapter in Assassin where some poor sod had his head caved in by the concentrated blast of a shot gun.

*snerk* It seemed natural somehow to put the two together. What do you think?

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About Ileandra Young

I'm a thirty-*mumbles* year old (purple loving, cheese worshipping) author of fantasy, juggling a pair of beautiful twin boys with my burning desire to make up stories and write them all down. When I get the chance, I play games, listen to music, and in days long past I even ran a radio show. Though I occasionally write non-fiction, my heart lives in fantasy and my debut novel, Silk Over Razor Blades is now available through Amazon along with part two of the trilogy, Walking The Razor's Edge.
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