| Redemption of a Killer |
 |
 |
| By: Kip Curnutt |
| I felt the soundless environment envelope me as I waited, lying still in the Alaska snow. The cold racking my nerves. I began to shake, my finger gripping the trigger, my eye peering through the scope. My heart was pumping faster and faster. Like the sound of wild horses running free. The cold was driving me crazy, and my leg was beginning to cramp. I had been still in the snow for over two hours. I was waiting to strike. It was my job as a sniper to stay still, to wait. A sniper must have patience. Patience I had. I was thought of as one of the best. That's what people thought. I don't agree. A killer can never be one of the best, never. As I waited I rehearsed the plan over in my head. The plan I was sent to carry out. I had to wait for Target X, (no name was given to me to insure safety) shoot the target, confirm the shot, then slip away into the mountains to be picked up by a helicopter. The plan was centered on me, killing a man I don't even know. Death for profit. I never knew why my targets were to be shot. I never questioned, either. It was my job as a mercenary sniperto keep silent and do as I was told. I was to kill. In all the times I was killing, I was really destroying myself. I overcame the guilt of killing by the great cash rewards I recieved afterwards. Even I, a killer, must say that it's a sure sign of humanity's decay when a cash value is worth more than a human life. That is the sad truth of our world today. As I thought about this, I began to feel bad about my actions. All the things I had done were coming back to haunt me. I was interrupted when I saw Target X leave the small cabin with a mountain background. It was a man, around 40. He was of medium build and had no hair. He was walking with a small girl, most likely his daughter. A short girl, around eight years old. The girl pulled a string in my heart that brought tears to my eyes. I felt my heart sink as they walked together. It wasn't that I didn't want to take the man's life but I didn't want to kill the girl's father. I felt much pain, but with the pain came anger. I placed the cross chairs of my scope directly aligned with the head for a perfect shot. Then I stopped: I couldn't do it. It was too much. The killing had to stop. I was driving myself crazy. I dropped the gun and turned to walk away unsure of what to do. I felt good but scared at the same time. I was worried what would happen to me, but I felt great about not killing. I had done something good. I knew it. For the first time in my life, I felt good about what I was doing. I was in the middle of my happiest moment ever when I saw my boss, the man who hired me. The man who paid me to kill. I knew now that he had doubted me and had been watching. He was right. I couldn't do it. I had grown old, and I couldn't pull the trigger, I wouldn't pull the trigger. "You should have taken the shot." The man said as he pulled out a pistol from his belt. Hate in his eyes and anger on his hands. He pulled the trigger and I dropped to my knees in pain. The end had come. "When will it stop?" I cried. |