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| 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.
109 words
@nickjohns999
This story was written for David Borrowdale's Micro Bookends Flash Fiction Challenge 1.14
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