(PHOTO CREDIT: C.E.AYR)
Cold beads of sweat began forming on Hunt’s forehead and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood shock still. The man sitting underneath the hastily strung banner proclaiming his profession slowly proceeded to uncap the bottle of water. The heat was sweltering even within the shades of the makeshift service centre.
Hunt could sense the ruthless eyes of The Cordon monitoring his every movement from an indecipherable location. They were his shadows of conscience. His continuing to make use of a conscience would now depend upon his next move. The code to the blueprint embedding the design of the centrifuges that would enable both the enrichment of the Uranium and the development of a bomb was within one of the innocuous looking and harmonious sounding bagpipes. The key to the kingdom of heaven (or infernal hell) was a password. Even a minuscule lapse could result in an incineration of both the vendor & the customer.
Time stood still for a few eternal seconds. Trying to swallow a lump that suddenly appeared at the base of his throat, Hunt drew himself up, stood tall & without taking his eyes off the man in front, whispered “KILT”
(WORD COUNT: 197)
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit HERE.
To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.