Michael Torrance looked at the rifle lying in front of him and wondered how it was going to feel to hold a weapon again after so long. Stretchiung out his hand, he allowed his fingertips to lightly brush the cold metal and felt an instant tingle at the sensation. For a fleeting moment, the smell of cordite wafted through his nostrils, more of a memory than an experience.
Turning his attention to the ammunition that lay alongside the rifle, he picked one up and inspected it. The small projectile had a pointed cap and he idly wondered what it would feel like to have such an object tearing through your flesh, smashing bone, ripping tendons and sinews to bloodied threads, before exploding through the other side in a shower of blood and bone fragments. He knew he would never find out and, realising he was allowing his mind to wander into dangerous territory, he picked up the weapon and tucked it into his shoulder in a firing position
"Like riding a bike....", he thought to himself.
Wrapping his left arm through the weapons sling to hold it tightly in place, he deftly swept the ammunition up in his other hand and loaded the first round. Fleeting memories once again flooded his mind and he had to make a conscious effort to shake the images from his mind. Now he was ready.
Making a cosncious effort to block out the distracting background noises, he began to concentrate on his breathing and watched the barrel of the rifle move slightly with each intake of breath. He knew his shot would come in between the breaths and tried to decide at which point that would be. It was important to make each shot count, he knew, knowing what was at stake if he proved unable to meet the challenge.
Realising his arms were tense, he mentally tried to relax and keep his eye lined up on the target. As he gained control of his breathing, he made the decision of where to make the shot and, as he reached that point, he held his breath and gently, carressingly squeezed the trigger. The silenced weapon spewed its deadly cargo towards the target at a rate of knots....... and a womans shrill voice cried out!
He had to make a renewed effort to block out the noise in order to remain focused on his task. It was no good to allow emotions to cloud his vision of the targets. The expected kick from the weapon had not come though and he realised that he had tensed in anticipation of it. He quickly regained his line of sight and, after a moment, realised that his shot had went slightly left of his intended impact point but he knew that a few millimeters either way made no difference.
Steadying himself, he brought the weapon to bear on the next target and again focused on controlling his breathing. Mentally forcing himself to relaxe, he chided himself for being so tense but knew that the adrenalin coursing thriough his veins had more than a little to do with it. When he felt the moment was rtight, he again squeezed the trigger............ and a child began to cry loudly.
Loading in the final round, he lined up on the last target and began the ritual of concentration and breathing again. He knew this would be his last, decisive shot so paused to shake his arm briefly before returning it to its place on the weapon. Presing his cheek into the stock of the rifle, he began the line up on the final target. Taking his time to make sure his breathing was under control, he waited until he was sure that he was in the optimum position to take the shot and everything else was ready, before slowly squeezing the trigger one last time. He could hear a police siren wailing and growing louder as it drew nearer and was glad that it hadn't distracted him by appearing sooner.
So, it was over. The job was done and there was nothing left for him to do. Slowly, reluctantly, he set the rifle down in front of him and looked at it for a long moment. The cold black metal shone dully in the light and he gazed wistfully at it, savoring the experience of firing a weapon again. Finally, with one last touch of his fingers to the metal, he tore his gaze away and turned to look at the man standing to his right.
"Well....?", he asked.
The man looked at him for a moment then, with a grin, handed him a large stuffed pink elephant. Michael took it and handed it to his wife, as they strolled away from the sideshow, the noise of the fair resonating around them........!
|
|
| Views: 63
Email This to a Friend 
