“No one is to go out after dark!”
“I won’t go out, Mama.” Not until you sleep.
Bicycle wheels squeak squeak squeaking, Jan rattles over the cobblestones.
His back aches from constant jostling, his eyes burn from glaring into the moonless night.
The gun on his shoulder seems to weigh twice as much as it did when he started five miles before.
Still, he goes on. It’s his last chance. “I can’t be late.”
The Troja Bridge. A motor car. The right motor car.
Jan drops the bicycle, steadies his gun.
Reinhard Heydrich’s face comes into focus.
Then disappears.
Thanks to Rochelle and Jellico’s Stationhouse, we once again have the perfect photo prompt for a Wednesday/Friday. The bike reminded me of WW II – why? It’s not what you look at but what you see. I looked up Reinhard Heydrich, and he seemed like the perfect recipient for a sniper’s bullet. This isn’t exactly what happened, but . . .
Up From the Ashes 