Waiting to Fall
Ajay Vishwanathan

Every time I ducked beneath one, I watched another sprout orange feathers in the background. We were being mauled, our ammunition running out. I tossed a few blind ones. They exploded somewhere below, not many feet away. Aamir lay next to me on the rock. "Do it," he said, hands clenched. After I shot him, I reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief with yellow butterflies on it, a half-eaten packet of Skittles, and a gold-plated wrist watch.

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