“What’s that noise?”

“Taliban,” Grandfather grunted, “They’re at Muhammad’s hut, Tara.”

He heard shouts, followed by gunfire, more shouts, and then quiet. “They will come here next. I’m sure.”

She asked, “Will they hurt me, like they did mother?”

“No. I won’t let that happen.”

Mercy didn’t exist. His nightmare wasn’t a dream, it was reality. The shouts came closer. He lifted his old rifle and paced the hard mud floor.

The door burst open and shattered the quiet room’s silence.

Horror’s darkness enveloped him, and fear of what they might do to her pushed him to pull the trigger.



Victor Paul Scerri


Victor Paul Scerri lives in Thailand.

Victor's stories have appeared in Ariel Chart Literary Journal, and Flash Fiction Friday. 

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