The sniper veered left, angled around the building, then whooshed over a fallen plyboard, then veered right, all the while keeping an astute eye for entrapments.
The man lay with his chest pressed into the icy bricks. He stared sightlessly over the edge of the rooftop. Sunlight danced off the rifle’s scope, the same rifle which had been splattered with gore just the previous night.
The sniper stood on the top of the building, waiting for his target to walk by on the streets below. She walked into view and he knelt down. He didn’t want to shoot her but he was going to. It was his job, and he honestly enjoyed himself immensely.
distance isn’t just a thing
but miles do not stretch
these things are unbending
brittle in the way of stones
and strong like heavy rain
there is power in the distance
but much more in disguise
He sat on the top of the crumbling building
Sharp shooter
The sounds of bombs not far in the distance
He was trained
For combat
For anything
He took a sip from a green water bottle
And rested his thumb on the trigger
It was now or never.
The sniper never sleeps
always observe
the prey
the heart
shoot her
said his mind
but his heart says not to
both of the prey and the sniper
are saved
from the death
from the love
not from the loneliness
A lone gun high in an apartment peers out of the window at a face in the crowd. His trigger finger tightens and he squints through the sight. The target moves behind a second figure in the moving throng
“It’s not the sniper’s job to clean the mess hall!” Harvey yelled to an empty room.
Because he was alone, and had been alone for a long time. A ghost can’t pick up a gun nor clean a hall.
The air was cool on my face. It bit lightly at my ears and nose, while the snow was falling lightly throughout the sky. I was looking down at the forest across from me, and the beauty of the snow. I was waiting patiently for my target… At the sound of hooves and a few birds waking in the trees I set up my gun, and looked through the scope. The dark carriage, pulled by four big stallions, contrasted against the pure white of the snow. They got to the front of the manor, door opening, and target about to step into view. I took a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs, and held it… Then the snow was stained red…
One down, two more to go, those was the last words I head as I fell to the ground. Blood was flowing down my face and I know that I was shot by one of the bullets fired from the sniper who was hidden up in the hills to he south of me.
I came back in time to prevent them from meeting and failed. I tried every means to drive them apart. Now, my only alternative was murder, which would negate my very existence and create a paradox. I approached them and felt a sharp pain in the side of my head. I looked up into the balcony as I fell and recognized the sniper as myself.
Sniper… it maes me think of Swiper, no swipinga nd of Dora the Explorer despite the fact that the two don’t have much in common.
But I think I’ve written about sniping before. It was Aegata who first drew my attention to it. She was pretty, not particularly, but enough so that you remembered her face, wihch was angular enough and sharp enough to make you realize hat this was a woman with sense.
Eye for an eye
You looked at me
I understand more than you understand yourself
Yet I had to make the decision to do it or not
You did not know
I had a mission
I must do it
My finger trembled
And I pulled the trigger
Was it a right decision?
I did not know
But I cried while my finger bent
he was comfortable in the cramped attic, surrounded by worn boxes, old furniture, and bags full of his daughter’s doll clothes, long since outgrown. he was at ease here, in his element. here he could lock the target in his sight and pull the trigger without hesitation. for his daughter.
how was i supposed to have known
that you who
crouched low,
earnestly
looking me in the eye,
only meant to shoot a bloody hole
right in my head and heart?
This bitter earth had blotted his mouth and he rose up in anger and roared under the blistering sun above him. The sniper had taken his shot from across the valley from his hiding spot in the mesa, but the bullet had missed its lethal trajectory by three inches and instead tore threw the man’s stomach. The sniper had unloaded the last of his shells into the tires of his target’s old rusted pickup truck, and left him to die.
The word chills me. Sniper. Awesome. So, when I’m feeling safe and secure, I’m really not because at any time a bullet can fly through walls, doors, windows, or other people to get me. Or, they might if action flicks are to be believed.
I hadn’t seen too much of him, far away as he was. So I had to come through all the brush and all the trees and plants that stood in the way between him and my heart, what he aimed at and struck so cleanly and precisely from that distance. I had to give him that. His ability to wait patiently and lovingly for me when he could see me along and I barely could see him.
Her eyes narrowed at the sniper positioned about the unsuspecting crowd. She made her way forward carefully, quickly. Bunching her muscles in a crouch she jumped to the nearest window and began climbing her way up.
hits the window and then the air
and leaping through the flesh,
bullet reaps a life
or two.
far from the consequences,
a black figure straightens like a letter
that has risen from the page.
pure and clean and ripped of meaning.
Don’t think. The morals held in that little red dot mean nothing to you. They can’t. So you point, you aim, you wait, you shoot. You were never a good guy or a bad guy. You were never a killer or a victim. Unseen and unspoken. You were the air behind the bullet.
I think of bullet-like focus, of someone being able to see something not only through to completion, but to the outcome after. They see all the possibilities, the angles,
The cold feel of the bow in his hand. Metal snatching on every ridge of skin. The swirled fingerprints on the reflective surface. His own determined brown eyes staring back, and his breath which fogged it away.
He reached for the arrow and strung it. Aimed it. Across the trees, acr
The man lays himself flat against the roof of the building and begins unpacking the plastic and metal equipment from his bag. The adrenaline coursing through his veins makes hands shake. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
Theres a sniper after my heart and I know he won’t give up until he knows he’s hit his mark, but no one is going to notice if he does or not because theres too many scars already on the flesh and too many cuts too deep to heal. He can shoot and shoot all he wants hit me as much as he can, but I will not relent, I will not hurt and he, he swears he will not give up on me.
I didn’t know what to do. He was going to kill me if I did move. And I could not try to reassure him that he would be okay. I just stood and waited for the gun to fire. But it didn’t. Instead he fell to his knees in defeat. I rushed over to him to tell him it would be alright. We would find the real killer of his brother no matter what. “We will find him even if it kills me,” I told him softly.
silent as whispers
perched upon a rooftop
unseen by all but the night
watchful
deadly
unerring in her determination
target acquired
she waits for the signal
steady hands
steady breaths
she hears the music
takes her shot
vanishes
before the chaos below
spreads like a bloodstain
The sniper crouched down behind the crumbling wall of the corner building, aiming at the unsuspecting daughter of the man he hated. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, but he didn’t dare wipe it away, afraid the brunette would detect the movement.
The sniper veered left, angled around the building, then whooshed over a fallen plyboard, then veered right, all the while keeping an astute eye for entrapments.
The man lay with his chest pressed into the icy bricks. He stared sightlessly over the edge of the rooftop. Sunlight danced off the rifle’s scope, the same rifle which had been splattered with gore just the previous night.
The sniper stood on the top of the building, waiting for his target to walk by on the streets below. She walked into view and he knelt down. He didn’t want to shoot her but he was going to. It was his job, and he honestly enjoyed himself immensely.
distance isn’t just a thing
but miles do not stretch
these things are unbending
brittle in the way of stones
and strong like heavy rain
there is power in the distance
but much more in disguise
He narrowed his eyes, adjusting his aim. Who would’ve ever thought that being a sniper was so easy?
keep low. do not lift up your head. crawl. don’t shake a leaf. if you see a red dot jump sideways. we are totally drawn upon
What if someone is watching from afar?
He could mean to protect you, or to harm you.
“Bang!” Who went down?
He sat on the top of the crumbling building
Sharp shooter
The sounds of bombs not far in the distance
He was trained
For combat
For anything
He took a sip from a green water bottle
And rested his thumb on the trigger
It was now or never.
The sniper never sleeps
always observe
the prey
the heart
shoot her
said his mind
but his heart says not to
both of the prey and the sniper
are saved
from the death
from the love
not from the loneliness
A lone gun high in an apartment peers out of the window at a face in the crowd. His trigger finger tightens and he squints through the sight. The target moves behind a second figure in the moving throng
“It’s not the sniper’s job to clean the mess hall!” Harvey yelled to an empty room.
Because he was alone, and had been alone for a long time. A ghost can’t pick up a gun nor clean a hall.
The air was cool on my face. It bit lightly at my ears and nose, while the snow was falling lightly throughout the sky. I was looking down at the forest across from me, and the beauty of the snow. I was waiting patiently for my target… At the sound of hooves and a few birds waking in the trees I set up my gun, and looked through the scope. The dark carriage, pulled by four big stallions, contrasted against the pure white of the snow. They got to the front of the manor, door opening, and target about to step into view. I took a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs, and held it… Then the snow was stained red…
One down, two more to go, those was the last words I head as I fell to the ground. Blood was flowing down my face and I know that I was shot by one of the bullets fired from the sniper who was hidden up in the hills to he south of me.
I came back in time to prevent them from meeting and failed. I tried every means to drive them apart. Now, my only alternative was murder, which would negate my very existence and create a paradox. I approached them and felt a sharp pain in the side of my head. I looked up into the balcony as I fell and recognized the sniper as myself.
Our brave soldiers, fighting for everything we believe in. Facing danger and death every day. Suicide bombers and snipers.
Sniper… it maes me think of Swiper, no swipinga nd of Dora the Explorer despite the fact that the two don’t have much in common.
But I think I’ve written about sniping before. It was Aegata who first drew my attention to it. She was pretty, not particularly, but enough so that you remembered her face, wihch was angular enough and sharp enough to make you realize hat this was a woman with sense.
Eye for an eye
You looked at me
I understand more than you understand yourself
Yet I had to make the decision to do it or not
You did not know
I had a mission
I must do it
My finger trembled
And I pulled the trigger
Was it a right decision?
I did not know
But I cried while my finger bent
wind factored
distance measured
camouflaged
laying in wait
target acquired
hairlines crossed
fire
job well done
he was comfortable in the cramped attic, surrounded by worn boxes, old furniture, and bags full of his daughter’s doll clothes, long since outgrown. he was at ease here, in his element. here he could lock the target in his sight and pull the trigger without hesitation. for his daughter.
how was i supposed to have known
that you who
crouched low,
earnestly
looking me in the eye,
only meant to shoot a bloody hole
right in my head and heart?
bang bang!
how was i supposed to have known?
This bitter earth had blotted his mouth and he rose up in anger and roared under the blistering sun above him. The sniper had taken his shot from across the valley from his hiding spot in the mesa, but the bullet had missed its lethal trajectory by three inches and instead tore threw the man’s stomach. The sniper had unloaded the last of his shells into the tires of his target’s old rusted pickup truck, and left him to die.
The word chills me. Sniper. Awesome. So, when I’m feeling safe and secure, I’m really not because at any time a bullet can fly through walls, doors, windows, or other people to get me. Or, they might if action flicks are to be believed.
I hadn’t seen too much of him, far away as he was. So I had to come through all the brush and all the trees and plants that stood in the way between him and my heart, what he aimed at and struck so cleanly and precisely from that distance. I had to give him that. His ability to wait patiently and lovingly for me when he could see me along and I barely could see him.
Her eyes narrowed at the sniper positioned about the unsuspecting crowd. She made her way forward carefully, quickly. Bunching her muscles in a crouch she jumped to the nearest window and began climbing her way up.
hits the window and then the air
and leaping through the flesh,
bullet reaps a life
or two.
far from the consequences,
a black figure straightens like a letter
that has risen from the page.
pure and clean and ripped of meaning.
Don’t think. The morals held in that little red dot mean nothing to you. They can’t. So you point, you aim, you wait, you shoot. You were never a good guy or a bad guy. You were never a killer or a victim. Unseen and unspoken. You were the air behind the bullet.
there is a man sitting up there! Jack looks up. “Shit! get
down” I ducked, but I knew death was inevitable.
The trigger was not the problem, it was having the courage to pull it. The hand responsible for doing so, was unsure and unable to calculate why?
I think of bullet-like focus, of someone being able to see something not only through to completion, but to the outcome after. They see all the possibilities, the angles,
The cold feel of the bow in his hand. Metal snatching on every ridge of skin. The swirled fingerprints on the reflective surface. His own determined brown eyes staring back, and his breath which fogged it away.
He reached for the arrow and strung it. Aimed it. Across the trees, acr
The man lays himself flat against the roof of the building and begins unpacking the plastic and metal equipment from his bag. The adrenaline coursing through his veins makes hands shake. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
He saw me and looked away.
Like a sniper
He shot my heart
A clean shot
A bullet though me
Blood leaks out
Like the love that once was
His desire for me
Is no more
Just as I am
No more
like a sniper
He shot my heart
treebound, glades iron heavy on the forearm, shaky hands, sweaty hands. There goes the mark, a little peep squeak with round glasses and poor posture.
Theres a sniper after my heart and I know he won’t give up until he knows he’s hit his mark, but no one is going to notice if he does or not because theres too many scars already on the flesh and too many cuts too deep to heal. He can shoot and shoot all he wants hit me as much as he can, but I will not relent, I will not hurt and he, he swears he will not give up on me.
I didn’t know what to do. He was going to kill me if I did move. And I could not try to reassure him that he would be okay. I just stood and waited for the gun to fire. But it didn’t. Instead he fell to his knees in defeat. I rushed over to him to tell him it would be alright. We would find the real killer of his brother no matter what. “We will find him even if it kills me,” I told him softly.
silent as whispers
perched upon a rooftop
unseen by all but the night
watchful
deadly
unerring in her determination
target acquired
she waits for the signal
steady hands
steady breaths
she hears the music
takes her shot
vanishes
before the chaos below
spreads like a bloodstain
Sniper rifle. Just one squint and you’re toast.
The sniper crouched down behind the crumbling wall of the corner building, aiming at the unsuspecting daughter of the man he hated. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, but he didn’t dare wipe it away, afraid the brunette would detect the movement.
A person that shoots at an unsuspecting target, usually in the mode of battle or war with the
intent to kill or maim the target.