I woke up with a mouth full of blood. Lying on my side, the hard curb cutting into my hip. I could feel my watch was gone, my wallet. The sons of bitches even took my shoes.
My fault. Everybody told me that District 2 is the most dangerous section of Ho Chi Minh City, that I should stay away from it. But that was where I had to go, because that was where he was.
I still had the postcard he sent Mom in my pocket. At least they had left me that.
I had to find out for myself.
Great voice. I really want to read the rest of this book.
Dear SWR,
Painfully good.
Shalom
Rochelle
That’s the mark of a good flash fiction – that what is not said speaks as loudly as what is
Wonderful. So much in so few words.
Well done. I like how you handled his unfolding awareness of what has happened and the weight of his brther on his shoulders….his mission.
xx Rowena
There is a price every family pays when one member runs. Usually the runner never sees that price until much later.
No, it’s not the victim’s fault; it’s the robber’s fault. The robbers still could have chosen not to rob the narrator.
Yeah, the story is not about that at all.
Great voice as always. Really want rest of the story now.