Basically its about how a sniper feels and whats going through his head before goes in for the kill, and the little twists along the way.
The clouds parted slowly, down the middle, letting the moon, sink into the night and stare blankly, towards the lonely alley he was sat in. It was dark. A cold gloomy English night, with just the wind twisting around the park to be heard. An owl sat, in wait, its penetrating eyes scanning the night until they settled on the alley where he was situated. The trees watched him intently, wondering how he would recognize her, knowing exactly what was going to happen. His heart pounded in his chest like a sprinting deer, startled by the headlights of a livid car, hurtling towards him, he threw himself behind two bins. It passed, and he slowly drew himself out. This was how he would spend the rest of the night.
Quietly, as the cool wind blew tenderly against his firm face, he watched, with eagle eyes, readily down the sinister, empty street. He knew that she would be getting closer now, It was getting late she would have to go home soon. The atmosphere could have been cut by a knife as the air meandered around him, thickening its grasp with every turn. He knew he would have to move in closer.
He picked up his bags, dashing swiftly down the street, alone like a lost lamb. He gripped his gun tighter between sweaty palms and pulled his jacket around himself, regretting that this had ever happened. Stealing a quick glance behind, he scanned the street. No-one was there.
He sat down, placing his gun on the floor, looking out into the street he heard footsteps. He tensed maybe this was it, she was earlier than he had thought, he wonder if he should follow her or not, whether she would want it over quickly or slowly jumping up he scooped up his gun and walked to the edge of the alley. She walked past and he grabbed her, pulling her round he twisted her wrist. It was his wife.
She looked so stunned, he had never seen her like this before, looking down at his hand she looked disgusted, she had never known about this, this side to him and he knew there was no way that he could explain.
She pushed him to the ground and kicked him in the side, bruising all his ribs. She bent down and whispered in his ear, ‘and don’t expect me to be at home when you get back’. Then she turned and he saw the trickle of tears rolling down her face as she walked away. He felt awful. How was this all happening on the same day? He had to get this job done and sort out this mess. What was he going to tell his wife?
Pulling a few scraps of paper out of his pocket, he looked at them. They were pictures of her. He stared for a while, longingly gazing into her pale eyes. She looked like an angel. He started to feel remorse creeping into his bones, chilling him to the ground. He slunk back into the alley, while a couple of giddy young girls skipped past. It wasn’t that long ago that she had been one of them. Why did he have to kill her; especially after what had happened.
He sat, still as a mouse, while she walked past. Her face was as blank as a stone. As if she already knew that she was going to die. She looked just like she had in the picture.
He crept out of the alley, keeping a couple of paces behind, his heart frozen in time, his gun in just the same place.
He pulled her backwards and put his hand around her mouth. Dragging her backward into the alley he grabbed his gun and put it too her head. He could feel he fear in her bones, as she tried to scream. Ending up sounding like a muffled cry, the tears started to roll down her face and she fell to the floor. He kicked her sharply in the head, knocking her unconscious in under a minute. Then for the final blow. His heart pounded as his finger grasped the trigger, each click made it sound like a million people could hear him. He sharply pulled it back and as her body contracted away from him, the oozing of the blood made him shudder. She was dead.
He gathered up his belongings and started to walk away; brushing the scene with his eyes to check no evidence had been left. That was the crucial part. He had chosen his spot well; there were no cameras or prying eyes. He was the best person in town, and had never been caught out once. Until now. All he needed to do now was the hardest part. Explaining. What would he say? Should he tell her the truth or would she blab to the police. Could he risk threatening her? She was his wife. How could he do this to her, this was the whole reason he hadn’t told her. Hadn’t told her anything.
He walked up to the back door, getting his key out of his pocket just as he normally did. The jangling reminded him of the day the he got married, when she pulled up in her carriage the bells jangled on the horses, he did have some fond memories of that day. Memories, that’s all they were now. Walking into the house, it was still. Nothing moved until he heard a sobbing voice coming from the bedroom. Slowly he walked up the stairs switching the landing lights on as he went. Thoughts crossed over the bridges of two different half’s of his mind. What would he do?
He pushed open the bedroom door, she sat, calmly on the bed and stared. Looking him right in the eye. It was her that broke the silence, with the three words that changed everything.
This stops now.
She wanted to know exactly what had happened. Questioning every detail, with the glimmer of tears trickling down her face with each new piece of information. It was killing her to hear all of this but her face was just frozen and making no attempt to stop.
All that she wanted to happen now was for it to stop. It was promised, and everything that happened was going to stay between these walls but in her heart she knew it would never be that way. She would always live in fear of him, waking in cold sweats in the night, fearing for her life. He had killed once, in a cold brutal way. He would kill again.