The Sniper

A Story by Reddog19

A flash fiction of a sniper who calls the shot.

The sniper aimed his rifle at the target.
Fifty yards at three thousand yards a second.
It would take one tenth of a second to shoot and kill the man that was walking down the street. The sniper clicked off the safety.
Two hundred yards and the target would be in the crowd of people gathered for the annual festival of lights.
The wind traveled northwest at three miles per hour now. A car passed by and the sniper adjusted his rifle scope.
Seventy-five feet and closing.
At forty feet, he would make the shot to end the target.
The target stopped and began to talk to a woman in a nearby cafe. The two stared laughing and the man pulled out a bouquet of roses and handed them to the woman, who returned the gesture with a kiss on the cheek.
The sniper hesitated.
The target was supposed to be alone.
The woman called inside and a little boy ran out, no more than three years of age, and hugged is father's leg. The man chuckled and picked up the boy in his arms.
The sniper's mind went blank.
This man had a loving wife, a caring family, a successful job.
He had friends who were overjoyed at the sight of him.
He had warm red blood pumping through his veins that kept him alive.
He had a heart.
He had a soul.
He was human.
The sniper lowered his rifle and began to pack away.

"Am I still human?"

He took off is helmet.
Suddenly, he heard a crack and the sniper fell dead.
A second sniper, no less than one hundred yards behind the first,
stood up and walked away.