I'm still trying to figure out how I want to format these #flashfiction posts, so bear with me!
Prompt: That person is planning to kill my grandfather. Word Count: 235
“That person’s planning to kill my Grampa.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were true, but—why? How?
“What?” Marcie laughed and pushed back, setting the porch swing rocking. I stared at Sam, our neighbor across the street. “Are you psychic now or something?”
“Ha.” I nudged Marcie with my shoulder because wasn’t it so funny? Me pretending to be psychic? Except, I didn’t know if I was. Pretending, that is.
Because last weekend, I knew Granny was gonna burn the shortbread cookies as soon as I woke up. I didn’t even know she planned on baking any, but sure enough, she did. And yup, she burned them.
And yesterday I knew we’d have a pop quiz in Math, and we did.
But those were just coincidences, right?
The screen door squeaked open, and Gramps stepped outside. “Oh hey there, Marcie.” Grampa smiled at my friend and winked at me. Man, I loved him. If it weren’t for him and Granny taking me in after the accident, I’d probably be in foster care or something.
The screen door slammed shut as he moved to the railing, raising his hand in greeting. “Hello there, Samuel. Ready for Christmas?”
Sam turned, and lifted his hand from his pocket.
In it, he held a gun.
Grampa took a step back.
The gun went off.
Guess I really am psychic.
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