The Collector

Shocked and repulsed, he took a step backwards. There, on the wall to his right, was a gigantic deer’s head. Slightly shaken, he turned his back on it. The man opposite of him was watching him closely, his head angled slightly to the side, a lion examining his prey.

“Certainly an extraordinarily… impressive living room,” he managed to say to the larger man, who now straightened himself and grinned, pleased with himself.

“Why, thank you ever so much. I take pride in it myself. It’s not every day one comes across an animal such as this.”

Clearly uncomfortable with the large animal behind him, the man shuffled a little, merely nodding.

“Though if you knew me better, you’d know that nearly everything I come across does not leave unscathed.” The other man laughed loudly, throwing his head back, the laugh a full and sincere one.

He had by now seen the large hunting guns on the other side of the room, about three of him, though he was sure there were more in the house somewhere.
“Just part of my collection,” the man said, seeing how he was eyeing the guns. “I much prefer the dead to the living.”

He took one of the guns. Holding it up in front of him, pointing at his guest, he could see the uneasiness in the man’s face. Grinning even more broadly, he pulled the trigger. “And that nicely makes another trophy for my collection,” he said and began dragging the corpse into the basement.

© 2016

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner, Week #6 – 2016

Published by Fia Coldwell

Suspense Writer

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