THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL. ANY SIMILARITIES TO REAL PEOPLE OR EVENTS, IS PURLEY COINCIDENCE.
“He watched the scene below him carefully. From his place high above the fray, the humans looked like ants. Of course, that meant the ants were invisible from this height.
He’d been put through vigorous training to get to this point. He’d known he could do it – always. The humans hadn’t been so sure. They hadn’t realised the power he held within his own wings. Now, he had his chance to prove it.
It hadn’t been done yet – using a pigeon as a sniper. Sure, they’d been talk about it. Talk about using our amazing gifts to be spies – but assassins were new.”
Steven stopped typing and rubbed his hand over his face. He was officially out of ideas. A pigeon as a sniper… He rolled his eyes at the comical idiocy. His own work was still trying to find its place after the incident last year. A pigeon sniper was a new low.
He raised his hands above his head and stared out the office window. The grass was swaying in the soft breeze, and a pigeon spread its wings, taking off. He wished he could rise like the bird, take off and never come back to his deadline.
Groaning dramatically, Steven replaced his hands on the keyboard and shook his head. He could do this. Wiping the words that he’d already written, he started again.
“He watched the street of people through his sniper scope. He loved watching the people, walking through life as normal. Like ants, ready to be stepped on, or picked off one by one.
He waited to catch one of the ants that he liked, in his scope. Easy target. Nope. He moved past the woman and her child, and instead focussed on a runner.
The man was tall, and from the looks of his sweat, he’d been running for quite a while already. People may even think he’d dropped from exhaustion. Until they saw the blood.”
Steven stopped typing again and felt the panic overwhelming him. Damn flashbacks from the incident. He wanted to write this story. He had to. If not to have another book for his publisher, then to get the story out there. People needed to know what it was like. To be in front of the scope, and behind it. The why, the when, the how. It was important. He went back in.
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“Carefully adjusting for wind, angles, and obstructions, he lined up the shot perfectly. His finger itched, and he released the rush as he pulled the trigger. His miscalculated shot ricocheted off the stone fountain beside the runner, and he continued. Oblivious, thanks to his headphones.
He sighed, then returned his focus back to the ants below. Someone would be his target, and this time he wouldn’t miss.”
A sound behind Steven gave him pause. He stopped writing and flicked his head behind him. He was too late. The man was already standing behind him.
The man who had looked through the scope. The man who had missed the runner, who had killed the woman and her child instead. Steven raised his hands in the air in surrender and let a tear fall down his face. He’d found him after all.
The man behind him leaned in close. “This time, I won’t miss.”
He pulled back and released the trigger.
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Christy Grace Scarlet Pen 