Flash Fiction – Bomb


“Of course I’m being fucking careful. I’m disarming a bomb.”

I lean in closer to the bomb in front of me. Normally we blow up bombs where they are but this is a little more difficult. It’s attached to a person. The very person that is understandably overly cautious about the current disarming process. I keep reassuring him I know what I’m doing. I describe what I see in front of me.

“Okay, so… the blue wires are decoys, only there to confuse me. I can tell because they’re too thin. We also have the red wire, and this green and yellow one. The green and yellow is connected to the timer, and the red one to the detonator.”

“So what do you do?”

“I cut the green and yellow, to slow the timer. I think.”

“You think?”

“That’s how it normally goes.”

“Great. They sent an amateur.”

“If I cut the detonator, the bomb detonates. That’s how it works.”

“How do we get rid of the bomb then?”

“I just cut it and hope for the best.”

“Hope for the best?!”


“You’re putting my life in the hands of hoping for the best?”

“Yeah that’s pretty much it.”

“Okay then. Let’s do it.”

I cut the green and yellow wire. The bomb starts beeping, slowly at first, getting quicker.

“Shit.” I mutter.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Think I’ve fucked it.”

“Fucked it?”

“Think I’ve cut the detonator.”

“Fuck! Fuck! What do we do?”

“Well, you’re fucked. I’m off. Sorry.” I back away, step by step, then sprint as fast as I can in the opposite direction to the bomb.


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