The weapon of war

His Armani trench coat swayed in the wind as the man took an inconspicuous glance at his wrist watch. It was approaching midnight and the moon cast an eerie light on him only to expose a face chiselled by past hardships that was now impassively cloaked. Behind the veneer was a cold and calculated machine of a man that was assessing the land in front of him with apathy. The house at the bottom of the hill where he was perched served as a reminder of the raging cold war. Stone urns destroyed by bullets and, the once thriving stream that ran along side the house coloured in the dismal sight of blood created a morose atmosphere. However, the man surveyed the environment from his vantage point appreciating the silence and emptiness it afforded him. Not even insects visited this piece of land; it was dead to the world. Glaring over the land he detected the light beams of a car in the distance. Eyes turning into slits, the man became rigid.

Moments later, a Ford Focus came to a halt outside the gates of the dilapidated mansion. A slender woman, dressed formally, got out of the car and looked around her hesitantly. After assuring herself that she was alone she walked through the gates. Her willowy hair got snagged by one of the many intimidating branches and the woman leapt into the air in shock. Once she realised that it was nothing serious she allowed herself a quiet chuckle and continued walking towards the mansion.

 

Up above, the man intently watched every movement being made by the woman below. Crouching down while keeping his eyes trained on the woman, he attached a metallic device to a tripod and adjusted the scope through which he zoomed in onto the woman. He shifted his position and clutched the device delicately, almost with a sense of reverence at the power the device possessed. The man, who a few minutes ago, might have seemed a well dressed passer by lost in his own reverie, had now become a trained animal ready to obliterate his unwary prey. Adjusting his right hand around a curve in the device, the man focused once more onto the forehead of the woman and tightened his grasp on the trigger.

As the woman neared the house she felt like she stopped dead in her tracks as she felt like she had been punched and on looking down at her stomach, she felt a sense of dizziness overcome her and she sank, week kneed to the ground and her life spun past her as her breathing slowed down to a complete halt, however before she shut her eyes and accepted death, she looked around for her hidden assailant and before she could lay her eyes on where he was stood she fell limp.

On the hillside, the man stood and brushed a speck of dust of his trench coat. Oblivious to the life he had just taken the man dismantled his sniper rifle and gently cleaned it with a cloth. During this arduous task was the only time this dispassionate assassin had shown any passion. Once the task was complete, he packed away his possessions, turned and began his decent away from the scene of utter stillness. The skies above erupted, as if the very heavens were weeping at the loss of the woman, but the man paid no attention for the war was the statesman’s game, the priest’s delight, the lawyer’s jest and the hired assassin’s trade.

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One comment on “The weapon of war

  1. DG says:

    I remember this!!! 🙂 It’s still as brilliant today as it was back then.

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