Target

A very short piece examining the dehumanisation through which all must pass before they are willing to take a life.

 

 

 

 

His grip on the rifle tightened as the sweat gathered like a flood about his furrowed brow. His teeth clenched so tightly he worried his gums might begin to flow crimson.

 

The target had yet to arrive at the agreed kill point. He had been waiting in this crouched position for some time - waiting was a key requirement of the job his mentors had told him. Patience was a commodity that would obviously be reinforced by experience. This was after all his first assignment.

 

He practised the mental exercises he had devised with his mentors to keep his mind as sharp as a knife, to keep it as it needed to be.

Ensuring always that the very forefront of his consciousness remained clear, uncorrupted. Ready and focussed for the task in hand.

 

Time became immaterial as he drifted into an almost out of body state, yet he remained as tensed and prepared to strike as a coiled spring. He may have been there for seconds, minutes, hours, he couldn’t say.

At that moment the limousine arrived.

It was almost time.

 

 

The target emerged from his vehicle, flanked by security guard and special agents, the street packed with journalists, photographers, members of the public.

A thousand flashbulbs in a cacophony of voices lost in the convoluted questions, cheers, hollers, boos of so many.

A scene of controlled and regulated chaos.

The vantage point had been well chosen, fool proof. Duplicating the uniform of the local Police Department, with whom the surrounding roof tops were crawling, had been easy. Fabricating the necessary ID to get into position had been child’s play.

A system that relied so heavily upon so many different forms of security only served to give his superiors more tools for the necessary subterfuge.

 

The target took a moment to wave to the onlookers as he entered the building where his big speech was to be held. The kill was to occur upon his leaving the building so as to have maximum impact, leaving his speech undermined.

Creating the right amount of shock and leaving so many demoralized.

Just as it was planned…..

 

His superiors had their motives, their agendas for why this was to happen. It had been made clear to him that his only concern was the deed itself. He was a cog in an altogether larger machine….

The target entered the imposing building amid the cacophony of hysteria.

The speech was to be broadcast on the big screens in the city as well as worldwide, there were cameras waiting outside the building too. Everyone was going to see this, as it was by design. Further waiting now lay ahead.

 

In the seemingly vast yawning chasm of time that descended upon him, his mind seemed to journey off in a million different directions. This was to be his first kill, the culmination of years of training, mental conditioning; conscience treated as a symptom to be cured. Remorse tackled as an enemy to be vanquished. Compassion warped into something devoid of all peaceful notions……

And yet now he faltered.

Here he stood on the very cusp of history. A tipping point that would alter the very fabric of civilised society, and tomorrow mankind would awake to a world changed forever. Breeding a malleable populace…. A climate of fear ripe for manipulation, people’s spirit sapped, the man on the street’s faith in all that was decent ravaged. And he would make it happen. Here. Now. On this day at the merest and simplest click of a trigger, he would change the world.

This was an intoxicating notion " that magnitude of power was almost worthy of some sort of god. And yet his anonymity meant that nobody would ever know that it was him. A hidden god……..

 

 

How would it look he wondered?

He tried to visualise it in his mind. He imagined the screams of the onlookers, the horror that would be carved into their faces. There to remain. Would the target simply fall to the ground or spasm into some sort of horrific dance of death? Would he scream? Would he feel it, or would it be so sudden as to be devoid of any pain?

Would his eyes pop out of his skull in a grotesque projectile fashion as the bullet hit on an explosion of blood and sinew….?

Or would it be clean, simple, clinical?

 

He felt sick to his stomach and yet he didn’t move a muscle. Readying himself and yet with every thought wondering if he should now show mercy…..?

There was no mercy, this was his mission. He must execute the Target.

He was a man just like him no idea what was coming……

This was as it should be, he was a target, nothing more.

Today he’d become someone else, a murderer, a killer.

Today he’d fulfil his function, do as he was trained.

Maybe he still had a choice, he could remain a man.

There was no choice to be made, eliminate the target.

 

The target emerged from the building, time seemingly slowing to but a crawl.

 

This was his last chance; he didn’t have to do this.

All was going to plan, target in sight.

 

He was trembling; the world was shaking in his telescopic sights.

 

The conditioning kicked in. He was entirely still, his mind and body suddenly an oasis of calm, devoid of all thought or movement.

The target stopped to wave to the crowd once more, framed in the crosshairs…

 

 

With one final deep breath and not a moment’s hesitation he pulled the trigger, and became a god.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

All opinions as always gratefully accepted.

Reviews

[Jack...]

Wow, this was extremely intense and written very well. I like the feeling I had while reading this, the questions that were posed, the doubt that surfaced in his mind and then the final outcome and a killer (no pun intended) closing line. Very cool my friend.

[QuietlyCrash]

Wow, you have this way of letting us into your characters mind are really giving us a grip on what's going on. That is some serious talent!