Jax Unchained | A flash fiction story
78 of 💯
Everything had happened in a flash. In one second he was in the prison yard, chains wrapped around the warden’s neck, a sea of confused guards around him. He blinked and was on the passenger seat of a belter pointing the warden’s gun at her head, all guards watching them, scrambling for guns, too drunk to get a clear shot. He blinked again and they were driving into the night of the desert, chased in the distance by the screams of belters.
They stopped by the river and Jax shot the chains until he came free. He opened his arms for the first time in over a decade and tried to hug the sky. He howled.
As the belters approached, he pointed the gun back at the warden. “Your face,” he said, his voice strange in his own ears. “When I was losing the fight, you seemed worried. Why?”
She sighed. “I care for you, Jax,” she said. “I know it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand it either. You’re just… special.”
Jax aimed at her head and she closed her eyes. The cold breeze of the desert kissed her cheek goodbye. But he didn’t shoot.
“Don’t ever look for me,” he said, putting the gun away on the small of his back. “You’ll regret it.”
He jumped on the river and disappeared in the night, unchained.
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