The Marksman
The Last Shot
Hands steady, target ahead, marked by his platoon in red. He held it close to his body, tucked into his chest, eyes wide open. The trigger just centimeters away, the scope clear, he just needed to know when. The commanding officer looked into his binoculars, then back at his prized possession. The best marksman, no question.

Focused, dripping in sweat, he followed orders. They said he had no soul, a devil, a murderer. No ability to call his own shots, another puppet, without a purpose.
Out came a child with a rifle, the officer yelled, “no forgiveness.” He never killed someone so young, so pure, so innocent. The trigger once centimeters away, suddenly felt so distant. Thoughts rushed through his head, here he held his own weapon, but was this a test? Is he just another soldier, no mind of his own, when they asked he just said yes?
A harsh sound, jerked back, a piece of metal flung to his right. The officer quickly shouted, “good job,” the child dropped out of sight. On the ground, crawling fast, heart beating. Vowing to keep his hands clean, to live a life of meaning.
Proud of his kills, but here he tested his skills. Aimed for the fingers, giving the chills. Keeping the child away from the horror he faced, from following his footsteps, his fate. A monster ready to change, turn it all around, purify his trait. No longer a drone, another in a uniform. The bullet in the wind, gave him a new mission. He left his mark, not because he was told nor was it written. It was just time, for him to stand up, and make a decision.
Thanks for reading! I will be creating multiple characters and continuing their stories. If you want me to continue the story of the marksman please show some love/comment below.
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“Inspire those around you, so inspiration can surround you.”
— Lior Gavra
