Aviators

So I don't really know where this one came from, but I've had the idea in my head for a few days. I'm working on descriptive imagery, kind of just trying to get comfortable writing descriptions that way in my longer stories I can put them in a bit more seamlessly. I'm going nuts these past few days with all the writing I'm putting out...I must have some homework that I'm not doing in order to have all this free time to write...oh well. I had a dream that I wrote for Flashpoint again, then my roommate's alarm clock woke me up at 8:30. It's Saturday and I was having a good dream! Grrrr.

He took a breath before exiting the truck and stepping out into the thick warm air. The hot sun beat down on the pavement as he instinctively looked up at the rooftops of the buildings through the tinted lenses of his dark aviator glasses. The threat was not a sniper, there was no need to search the rooftops, but he always had the nagging feeling that someone was waiting to take him out form afar, someone always had a scope trained on him and was just waiting for the right moment. He subtly shook his head and forced himself to refocus.

He looked at the crowd, grateful that no one could see the direction his eyes were going as he assessed every person, civilian and officer, that came into his view. He didn't know what he looked for in the moments it took him to read the people at the barriers but he knew that it was another habit of his. It was ingrained in his being along with checking for snipers, it was something he had to do or else he would constantly be looking over his shoulder.

He finally let his gaze fall on the scene unfolding before them. A hostage situation in the midst of a bank robbery. He looked through the glass front of the bank and was able to see the subject holding a gun towards the group of hostages.

"Jules, Sierra One. Wordy, entry options. Lou, less lethal. Sam, ears. Spike, in the truck." Ed listed the tasks as he watched them go off in their own directions. Greg approached Ed and began dialing the bank, hoping to initiate a conversation. Ed watched for a moment before walking over to a squad car and looking at the blueprints laid out on the hood. He didn't say anything as the officer explained to him and Wordy about the different entrances and options, he only pointed to a roof access. Wordy nodded and jogged over to one of the trucks to grab the necessary gear. Ed looked again to the rooftops and, after searching for a few seconds, found a sniper rifle this time. He looked at it carefully before speaking.

"Jules, are you two buildings southwest?" He asked in an even tone.

"Yeah, why? You think I should move?" She asked over the radio.

"No, you're fine there, just checking." Ed said as Wordy returned with his repelling gear and an extra set for Ed. "I'm going to find a perch, I'll be Sierra Two." Ed said as Wordy nodded again and went off towards the fire escape. Ed grabbed his sniper rifle from the trunk of one of the SUVs and walked towards a building to the North.

He opted to take the stairs and felt his heart beat in his chest as he ran up the flights. His boots pounded on the stairs in a steady rhythm as his heart pounded in his chest. After the first flights the sound of his boots was drowned out by the pumping of the blood in his ears and his head. He focused only on his breathing as he felt the cadence developing. Four steps, inhale. Three steps, exhale. He repeated the commands in his head until he came to the final flight. As he mounted the last few steps he grabbed the latch on the heavy door and pulled it open, revealing the bright sun on the white pebble rooftop.

He squinted his eyes, even from behind his sunglasses as he waited for his pupils to adjust to the mid afternoon light. He walked to the edge of the rooftop and looked down. He'd never been afraid of heights but sometimes seeing the distance to the ground was dizzying. He stood for a moment to get himself grounded before stepping back and taking his gun out of the case. The cool metal of the gun made his fingers tingle as he lifted it into the warm, humid air. He found his spot in the corner of the rooftop and lowered himself to his knees and then his stomach as he inched his way closer to the edge.

He looked at the scene for a few seconds without holding the gun. The people seemed like ants to him as he watched from the rooftop of the building. He saw Wordy across the road, standing near the skylight of the bank, repelling gear secured and ready to be used if necessary. He looked towards the ground again and watched Greg walk from the uniformed officers to the van and then back to the police blockade. He heard the chatter in his ear but didn't particularly listen to it.

He removed his sunglasses before pulling the gun into position and aligning his shot, focusing on the subject.

"Sierra Two has the solution." He said confidently as he followed the pacing of the subject inside the building. The warm sun beat down on his back, the black uniform attracting the rays like a magnet. Beads of sweat formed on the back of his neck and rolled down but he made no move to wipe it. He stayed still, a gargoyle carefully watching the events unfold below him. He barley breathed, his muscles relaxed yet ready to tense in an instant.

If he had not had the sniper rifle in his hands, he would have looked like a dead body. His stillness was almost unnerving as he slowed his heartbeat and took control of his body with ease. His scope remained trained on the subject who was now standing still, speaking on the phone to Greg.

He didn't consciously listen to the conversation, he couldn't let himself. If he listened, if he heard this man's story, and he sympathized with him Ed's life would grow harder. He wouldn't hesitate to take the shot, he couldn't hesitate, but he would add this man's ghost to his ever growing closet of skeletons. He would carry this man around in the back of his mind, in his nightmares, in his hands; the hands that had so much blood on them, too much to ever clean off. A newspaper article would be added to his grim collection and he would forever see this man's face flash before his eyes when he was ordered to take the lethal shot.

And I'll carry on. He thought to himself with disgust. Call it a job, call it keeping the peace, call it a necessary evil, but really, I'm a public executioner. Resentment was heavy in his mind as the subject stood and began to pace again. He followed his movements like a predator stalking its prey from afar. Maybe I'm dead already... He thought to himself as he heard Greg's voice, clear and heavy over the radio.

"Scorpio."

I don't know if I like this. I like the beginning and the end but I was really just experimenting a little bit. I want to get better at adding in more descriptions and more thoughts in my longer stories and make it not feel forced. So tell me what you think, I'd really like some constructive criticism on this. Sometimes I fall into the trap of telling too much and not leaving it up to the reader to understand what I'm implying, so I was working on that a little bit towards the end; what are you thinking? Thanks for helping me out!