|Photo Credit: aaron gilson via CC|
The Last Messiah
“Peace? You’ll see none, little one.” I murmured.
His wrinkled fingers twitched against my farm callused ones, in what I took for agreement. I studied the smooth unformed face, curious what made this one, above all, special. I saw nothing.
“Wait here. I will radio for further instructions. Stay alert.” Captain Li could never leave without adding additional, unnecessary orders. Arsehole.
With this child’s death, or indoctrination, decades of resistance would end. I could return to my family, far from this desolate place.
I stood, ramrod straight, above the corpse of the last monk who had tried, in vain, to shield their new Dalai Lama.
We had our prize.
This story was written for David Borrowdale's Micro Bookends Flash Fiction Challenge 1.14