Fireworks
Flash fiction
I woke up to a concert of fireworks, the flashing lights and music painting a scene I won't forget.
From my balcony on the 3rd floor, I could clearly see people running, some walking but everyone waving the nation's flag, dancing and screaming in painful ecstasy. Another group stood afar, tight like a squadron of ants, each person holding a fire stick, all grinning and laughing while pulling the trigger.
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It dawned on me when I heard rather than saw the first body hit the ground with a sickening crunch, that it wasn't fireworks that woke me but rather gunshots.
The flags were raised as a shield, the flashing colors of green, white and green doing nothing but sealing their fate.
I didn't realize I was lying flat on the floor until I felt the wetness of my own tears pooling beneath my chest, sending a chill down my spine whilst the cold from the floor seeped into my skin.
The shots rang for hours, shells ricocheting off the walls striking killing blows to bodies within their homes. No body was safe, everyone was a suspect while the stray bullets the judge.
I lay down there until the sun woke, revealing the artwork left by armed painters.
