Pulling the Trigger: Unconformity
Prologue.
I popped open a perspiring can of Arizona lemon iced tea and took a long gulp. Setting it down next to me, I reached for my M40A1 sniper rifle, peered through the scope and locked onto my target. The unknowing woman was inside her apartment and was pacing around. A man sat in a chair and looked angry, obviously the two of them were having a very heated discussion.
I grabbed the can and took another gulp. Wiping my mouth I peered through the scope again. Seconds away from pulling the trigger, the woman turned in my direction. She had tears running down her face and for a moment I felt a twinge of guilt.
I wanted to let her go. Not to shoot her, but it was my job and I had no choice but to do it. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, trying to regain my usual ruthlessness.
My finger reached for the trigger. The closer my finger got to the trigger, the more the guilt subsided. Finally as my finger wrapped around the trigger all of my guilt was gone. I smirked and as I had done so many other times I pulled the trigger.
I grabbed the can and took another gulp. Wiping my mouth I peered through the scope again. Seconds away from pulling the trigger, the woman turned in my direction. She had tears running down her face and for a moment I felt a twinge of guilt.
I wanted to let her go. Not to shoot her, but it was my job and I had no choice but to do it. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, trying to regain my usual ruthlessness.
My finger reached for the trigger. The closer my finger got to the trigger, the more the guilt subsided. Finally as my finger wrapped around the trigger all of my guilt was gone. I smirked and as I had done so many other times I pulled the trigger.
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