Micro fiction


1 minute read

I feel the early afternoon sun on my face as I walk down one of the many crowded streets of Rio. A kid, no older than fourteen, passes the man directly in front of me and snatches his watch. As he runs away, the man takes a gun from his jacket and shoots him in the back.

The blood splatter hits an old lady who drops her groceries. The kid loses his balance and crashes into another guy before falling face down on the pavement.

People are running and screaming around me but I’m unable to move. I just stand there as the blood starts to flow down the calçada.

At night, as I smoke my cigarette, I see the red streaks of military grade bullets lighting up the hills.

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