Red Street

January 18, 2010
The cold was unbearable. It accompanied death as they both lingered in the air. Nothing stirred. Except one man. He lay on his back, under a cloak of red stained snow. The struggling body on the edge of a still smoking crater in the earth. The culprit of the red stain, red from him… and many others. His eyes struggled to open. They flickered frost from the tips of his eyelashes. The silence was desolate, much like the lifeless surroundings. The man began to move, fighting the cold that was as much an enemy as the prey he was seeking. His hands fumbled around under the blanket of red, searching for his lost comrade. The ice-cold touch of something struck him as familiar. He grasps it eagerly. As the sniper scope protruded first from the snow, he snuck a grin. The hunt has begun.

The street was littered with bodies. The fresh blood was a striking contrast to the rest of the grey shell of what used to be a city moments ago. The sniper stumbled to his feet and slung his rifle around his shoulder. Without a second look around, he began his hunt. He darted through the white haze; his lean body weaved and hurdled with ease through the maze of the dead. He needed to get into position. The sniper continued his brisk jog through a skeletal graveyard that was the former city. He was determined not to let this become his graveyard. Despite the cold eating at his focus, he remained tuned onto his goal. He continued to move through the skeletal structures with unmatched speed and silence, his main weapons. A hawk could not have spotted the man, white camouflage on a white background. His movement from building to building was unseen and unheard, forcing his body through the freezing cold. He finally found the stairs to his location. His long legs skipping steps on his way up, he stopped. He stood at the edge of a charred hole in the side of this building, peering directly down on the red stained road. Perfect.

He slung his comrade from his shoulders and dived onto the floor. He set his rifle on the edge of the cliff he was on and peered through the scope on the street. All he had to do now was wait for his prey to come straight into his jaws. His camouflaged lump would be easy to overlook if you were to stand right next to him. He became one with the snow, but at a price. The snow was eating at his wounds like a pack of leeches. Even the blood still left in his body was frozen. Any normal man would falter in these harshest of conditions. However, he is no normal man. His trained ears finally picked up what sounded like a soothing melody to his ears. The mechanical sound drifted ever closer into the predators domain. As the convoy rounded the corner, the crosshairs of the scope was already on them. The three Mercedes emblems gleamed, despite the lack of light. As they approached the minefield of carcasses, they rolled to a stop and emptied out in a flurry of doors. The prey stood out like the red did on the snow. His bright gold star proudly sitting on the hat attracted the sniper as a mouse does to a hawk. This was it.

The general began to stroll out confidently towards the fallen. “Commandant, I advise you to remain behind us as we clear the way, this section of the city is unsecured.” The bodyguard’s head nervously shot from window to window of the skeletal buildings. The worry was evident in his eyes. “Nonsense, no one could have survived the bombings.” The gold star continued to advance. He halted before one of the dead and grimaced at the mangled lump. He drew his hand to his cap in a salute.

Every muscle in the snipers body tensed, shrugging away the cold like it was nothing but a fly. His fingers teased the trigger. His eyes locked on the general as he advanced. The gaze through the scope could have killed the general alone as the crosshairs settled on him. As all the pieces fell into place, the sniper entered a state of serenity. The sound of the desolate wind whistling through the buildings was all that reached his ears. His focus bore through the falling lumps of white that resembled the bombs that this general ordered. As the adrenaline rushed through his veins to his fingertips, he squeezed. The silence was shattered as the bullet tore through the freezing air. Unlike everything else in this city, the bullet was not killed by the cold but instead ripped down towards the red street to greet the general’s salute.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback