…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.

Two Minutes Early

Bev pulled off the road and into the edge of the driveway.

She checked her watch. 6:58AM.

Odd–she was only two minutes early, yet no one else was there, the house’s lights were all off, and nothing was set up outside. She glanced over the ad she’d clipped from the paper. Yep, this was the place.

Bev looked up from the ad when the house’s front porch light went on, just in time to see a man burst through the front door, lift his shotgun to his shoulder, aim, and fire.

She ducked seconds before buckshot ripped through both the passenger’s and driver’s side front windows, right at the level that would have hit her in the head had she reacted just a few seconds slower.

Still ducking and covered in glass shards, she managed to open the car door and stumble onto the ground. The car was between her and the shooter now, and she peeked up over the door to see if the man was still shooting or if she could talk to him or what. Bev hadn’t planned for this turn of events; she honestly didn’t know what to do and was too shocked to think clearly.

As she looked through the holes where the car’s front windows used to be, she saw the man advancing, ready to shoot again…and five more people exit the house’s front door.

One was also armed with a shotgun, two carried baseball bats, and the other two, torches. All of them were moving swiftly towards her Camry.

So she ran. Bev ran down the road, not even taking her keys or her purse with her, as fast as she could go, her terror fueling her adrenaline as she listened for more gunshots so she could hit the ground to avoid them.

She only looked back twice. Once when she heard the sounds of glass breaking; she glanced back to see the mini mob rocking her car back and forth while beating it with the baseball bats.

The second time was when she’d hit the ground after hearing another shotgun blast. Face down, in a muddy ditch on the side of the road, Bev lifted her head and turned to see that the two of them with shotguns were shooting them into the air next to the car, which was now overturned and engulfed in flames, as the other three danced around it and hollered.

As she lifted herself up and turned her back on the scene again to keep running, vowing not to look back any more and to not stop running until she was sure she was safely out of shotgun range, she heard a voice from back at the house call to her, “The ad said ‘NO EARLYBIRDS’, and we meant it! NO! EARLY! BIRDS!


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