Title: The knife
by Hani from London | in writing, fiction, short stories
His face was impossible to make out, as the darkness was contorting his features. All I could focus on was the metallic surface of his handgun, which glinted in the moonlight.
I only looked at him through the corner of my eye, but it was impossible to focus on him, though he stood in a blind spot caused by an eye disease or a brain tuma.
'You see?' He asked, keeping his weapon leveled. 'You really don't have a choice.'
'You're right,' I said, reaching for the steak knife in my back pocket. 'I really don't.'
When your life is on the line, how much choice do you really have?
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