DigitalDonkey
06-10-2014, 10:53 AM
The gravel on the surface where his rehearsed body is sprawled out scratches against his elbow and with some silent small adjustments he solves the irritation. Even at this height the wind seems relatively calm and he wonders if this fine weather will persist. The warm sun is welcoming on the side of his partially exposed cheek. He loves the sun, like an empathic friend that knows silence is the key. He opens his left eye and reviews the time on the watch perched against the low concrete ledge in front of him. It’s a chronograph watch. He never much liked digital watches; they seem lifeless and without rhythm. He listens to the tick, tick, tick and closes his left eye but then opens it again as he detects movement.
The curtain is drawn by a young looking woman to welcome in the morning sun. She yawns and stretches out, both arms victoriously reaching into the air. She tugs at the torn pair of trousers she’s wearing and realizes it’s about time she invests in a new pair. She turns and disappears from the window. He looks at the watch. She returns with a jug filled with water. Slowly she waters each plant on the windowsill. She appears to be talking to herself or the flowers. She opens a window of her twentieth floor apartment to let some air in. The wind gushes in and her hair flatters across her face and she brushes the loose strands aside and around her right ear. She’s right handed. Her fingers are thin.
‘She would make a good piano player’ his mom would have said. She probably is a good piano player.
She disappears again.
He slowly breathes in and out, almost to the timing of the watch. A dove lands on the ledge and bucks his head left and right, it’s a ring neck dove he notices. He slowly moves his back right foot a little. The gravel sound scares the dove into flight and away from his position. Her window is still just a picture of pot plants and one curtain dancing softly in the wind. The warmth of the summer sun embraces his body, keeping him comfortable and in the moment.
She returns to the window. She is holding a photo in her hand but it’s not recognizable from this far.
He studies her face.
As if angered, she tightens the hold on the photo so much that the blood drains from her fingers and the other hand moves up to seemingly calm her trembling lips. A tear forms and slowly runs down her beautiful pale skin onto her cheek.
If only he could be there to hold her, just be there to comfort her. Who is she and why is she crying?
His left eye gazes at the watch and he knows it’s time. His left eye closes while the right one focuses in on the form in the cross hair. He checks his position, steadies his legs and affirms the wind for the last time. Everything has been set beforehand. He breathes in. He aims. His finger pulls on the trigger and he knows exactly when it will pass the point of no return. It does. The projectile races through the Brügger and Thomet silencer towards its intended destination. It has one goal. It kills. It never misses and never loses. The metal cuts a small hole in the window pane and lodges itself into flesh and bone. The target drops to the ground. Blood slowly encircles the lifeless head like a red sun growing in the sky. His left eye opens and he exhales. He is following orders. Somebody has to do this and he was chosen.
It’s over.
His trigger finger automatically shifts to a safe position and then the PSG1's telescope focuses four levels down on the woman by the window again.
She is still standing there, oblivious to the world and the event that transpired in room 245. Her left hand dries the tear from her eyes and cheek. A finch flies in and nestles on one of her pot plants. The bird twerp’s around for a while and then flies away. She smiles. The sun falls on her face again and he sees life in her soul. Hope. She turns around and disappears.
He too disappears into the awakening day…
9309
The curtain is drawn by a young looking woman to welcome in the morning sun. She yawns and stretches out, both arms victoriously reaching into the air. She tugs at the torn pair of trousers she’s wearing and realizes it’s about time she invests in a new pair. She turns and disappears from the window. He looks at the watch. She returns with a jug filled with water. Slowly she waters each plant on the windowsill. She appears to be talking to herself or the flowers. She opens a window of her twentieth floor apartment to let some air in. The wind gushes in and her hair flatters across her face and she brushes the loose strands aside and around her right ear. She’s right handed. Her fingers are thin.
‘She would make a good piano player’ his mom would have said. She probably is a good piano player.
She disappears again.
He slowly breathes in and out, almost to the timing of the watch. A dove lands on the ledge and bucks his head left and right, it’s a ring neck dove he notices. He slowly moves his back right foot a little. The gravel sound scares the dove into flight and away from his position. Her window is still just a picture of pot plants and one curtain dancing softly in the wind. The warmth of the summer sun embraces his body, keeping him comfortable and in the moment.
She returns to the window. She is holding a photo in her hand but it’s not recognizable from this far.
He studies her face.
As if angered, she tightens the hold on the photo so much that the blood drains from her fingers and the other hand moves up to seemingly calm her trembling lips. A tear forms and slowly runs down her beautiful pale skin onto her cheek.
If only he could be there to hold her, just be there to comfort her. Who is she and why is she crying?
His left eye gazes at the watch and he knows it’s time. His left eye closes while the right one focuses in on the form in the cross hair. He checks his position, steadies his legs and affirms the wind for the last time. Everything has been set beforehand. He breathes in. He aims. His finger pulls on the trigger and he knows exactly when it will pass the point of no return. It does. The projectile races through the Brügger and Thomet silencer towards its intended destination. It has one goal. It kills. It never misses and never loses. The metal cuts a small hole in the window pane and lodges itself into flesh and bone. The target drops to the ground. Blood slowly encircles the lifeless head like a red sun growing in the sky. His left eye opens and he exhales. He is following orders. Somebody has to do this and he was chosen.
It’s over.
His trigger finger automatically shifts to a safe position and then the PSG1's telescope focuses four levels down on the woman by the window again.
She is still standing there, oblivious to the world and the event that transpired in room 245. Her left hand dries the tear from her eyes and cheek. A finch flies in and nestles on one of her pot plants. The bird twerp’s around for a while and then flies away. She smiles. The sun falls on her face again and he sees life in her soul. Hope. She turns around and disappears.
He too disappears into the awakening day…
9309