A snipers dilemma

A calm breeze blew with the sun peeking through the clouds.

Hundreds gathered for a senators campaign speech.

A half mile away, atop the roof of an average looking building sat the sniper. Poised and calm he surveyed the landscape, checked wind and temperature and various weather signs.

Opening his case, the gunner assembled his rifle with an almost romantic feel.

Settling down, he lines up his scope dialing in settings. Steady hands, and calm breathing are his conductors, as if his body were a symphony of calm.

Checking the picture of his target one last time, seeing a nice family, husband, wife, two kids.

Hard to imagine a target from this picture, he thought to himself.

The senator, being the father, had big dreams, expensive dreams, the kind that make or break a war.

Joining his eye to the scope, he searches the sea of people a half mile away.

Scanning each person for a split second with his crosshairs, he locates the target on the stage.

The mission was simple, assassinate. Simple being a calloused word, the job was easy, fire his gun at a target, the moral side was gnawing at him.

He knew it was a heavy job, politically speaking.

Kill the target and someone, somewhere benefits in a sadistic way.

Ordinarily, this job is a non-issue, something he'd done many times, never really proud though.

This time, the trigger seemed harder to squeeze than ever before.

What purpose does shooting his son serve? An innocent child?

Money, power, control? The only reasons that made sense to the shooter.

A child though, an innocent child caught up in the bureaucratic power monger world.

The moral struggle waged war in his mind and heart.

Serve his country, as skewed and gruesome as it is, or let him live and disappear.

One of those options would tear his heart out, and he would be an empty shell of a person, the other leaves him whole, but a marked man.

If he doesn't complete the job, someone will.

If he ran, he'd have to save the kid, or the whole family.

Packing his rifle up, he raced down the building. Checking corners and alleys, making sure he wasn't tailed.

His heart relaxed, not having to kill a kid tends to loosen you up.

Screeching his tires, he flees the scene.

________________________

"Has he called in?"

"Not yet, he's five minutes late."

"Turn on the tv check the news."

"Nothing"

"He didn't take the shot, I knew it, the minute I saw him, I knew he wouldn't. Find him, make him disappear, and call everyone in, I need that job done, I don't care how."