Seashell
A short story written in five minutes, inspired by the word "Seashell"
It was a beautiful winter day.
Alfredo and Lolita were on the beach, having lunch with wine and cheese on a blanket.
“I’m so happy right now,” she said. Her pretty eyes closed, her head resting on his chest, her hands caressing his face.
“Me too, my love. Me too,” he said. His head laying on his folded coat, his moustache well-trimmed .
“Darling, I’ve got a present for you,” he said.
“Really? What?”
Alfredo took a small box out of his bag. “Now that I’ve escaped the killers hired by Don Mileto, our life is going to change forever. And this is the first of many presents to come.”
“Oh, love.”
“I bought it from a street vendor.”
Lolita unwrapped the box.
It was a beautiful seashell.
They kissed tenderly, oblivious to the world.
At that point, the seashell detonated.
On the opposite coast of the lake, Nico was observing the fire of the explosion dying out and surrounding people gathering through the lens of his binoculars.
“I did it” he said to a nearby public telephone.
Then, he threw away the fake beard and the striped shirt, got in the car and left.