Who's Listening (narrated)

 Here is a dark story I wrote, Who's Listening, that my friend Blake narrated. I hope you enjoy it and please give it a thumbs up on YouTube.

                     https://youtu.be/H2hQAMtvC3M

The Deal (a flash fiction story)

                                       The Deal 

                                    by M. Wright 

     The night was bitter, and the silence was deafening. The distant street and overhanging door lights above the back entrances to the cheap bars and shady broken bone gambling spots were the only lights that lit the alley. Loaded, my gun was ready.
     What had I gotten myself into? The blood from the gash on my side had soaked into my shirt. Drops of liquid fell onto my bare feet. It was from my elbow pressed against the blood-soaked fabric that stuck to my skin, or a few drops of rain that I hoped would bring me coolness. The infection had appeared.

     The mini bio-storage box had to leave my body. The deal was too good to be true. They set me up—I was not a mule. The storage container held a cure to the pandemic—It had to end. 

     My phone vibrated—I answered it and heard no one. I saw a dog three doors down. The mutt dropped to the ground. The pain in the gash on my side pulsed. I wanted to scream in agony—the bio-storage box in my body crawled. It exited my side. I squirted blood against the brick wall that supported me. I opened my hand and watched as the container worked its way from my body and rested in my palm. 

     People in black suits appeared in the alleyway and walked toward me. I shouted, "Stop!" No one listened. I pulled the trigger. I watched four of the men in black as they fell. I paused and thought to myself as I watched the men in black as they raised from the ground one by one—"I am so fucked." 

     I unloaded the rest of the shells from my clip. The men never stopped. I could see the whites of their eyes. The one in the middle extended his arm and opened his hand. My phone vibrated—I reached in my blood-soaked pocket and pulled out my phone—heard nothing. I smiled. They dropped like dogs. My wounded side glowed brightly and healed. The bio-storage box disappeared. The bank app opened on my phone monitor and completed the transfer.  

     "Bullshit," says a voice questionably. 

     I look at the three guys sitting at the bar and tell them, "Buy me another beer, and I will tell you what phone number called me."

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