Hit List

While James generally got bored with taking photos of dead bodies all day, he loved to look over the ones that came in inked up. The one today, tattooed practically from head to toe, was a gang member. He had his face all torn up, bruises all over, and seven bullet holes through the ribs and stomach. Likely he had crossed somebody. Either that, or a rival gang had got the drop on him. His chest was covered with skulls, each with a scroll underneath that had the names of rival gangs or simply the word “snitch.” This man was the muscle in his group, a sort of hitman. Most gangbangers don’t get this many kills before they eat it. It’s possible he’s killed civilians, too, but there’s no reason to remember those or to tell people about them. This man was an animal, through and through. James snapped a picture. He would have to get copies later to post on his wall at home.


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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session VIII

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