“Tick tock,” the twisted voice said on the phone, “get here before the sand runs out and your bride lives.” It laughed, “Don’t forget, I’m watching you.”
His heart pounded. Who could’ve taken his bride just hours before their wedding? His didn’t have any enemies, only friends. Frantic, he sprinted back to his car, watched the sand slowly slipping through the tiny space once more before slamming his foot on the gas pedal.
“I’m here!” He shouted into the dark warehouse but only a body was slid back to him. On her chest, written in blood, You’re too late.
Each week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple hosts Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words, more or less, based on the picture above.