Rifle on the Rooftop

I know what it is you think of me when you see me slumped over the bar in a drunken stupor. I know some feel pity, others look at me with disgust, and yet others pay me no mind, for the regulars here have come to expect me to come in every night at the same time, and drink myself to oblivion. Honestly, these people could set their watches by my arrival time and by how long it takes for me to hit the floor.

Something's wrong this night, though, and you see it. I'm still semi-sober, and slowly drinking a glass of only-God-knows-what and hang my head in a depressed manner. Long, disheaveled fiery hair obscuing my pained face from the partying masses. My once immaculate blue suit dirty and scuffed.

Is the picture vivid enough for you? Should I drag it out longer than necessary in order for you to feel a twinge of useless pity? If you do, I say piss off. I don't need anything from a pathetic fuckbag who doesn't know enough to realize sticking their nose somewhere it doesn't belong might get it blown off, along with the rest of the brainless head it belongs to. All I need is a shot glass and another bottle of gin.

What the hell do you want? If you want some kind of story, I've got a bunch to tell. I've seen shit in my life that would make you vomit as soon as I loose the words from my mouth. Call me sadistic, but I love telling my stories just to see the look on peoples' faces when I tell them what I've done in my life.

In fact, since you don't seem like a shit-for-brains dumbass, I'll tell you a story, one I haven't told anyone before. If you want to know why I come in here to drunk off my ass every night, then you'll understand after the telling of my first mission for that damned company that gave me purpose, but stole me away from myself.

In the company, there was an unwritten rule that the upper brass followed as if it were the final word of God, and it was: If something threatens your power, kill it before it kills you.

That was my job. I was damage control, I was security, I was the person who made sure the company monpolized the world. Someone embezzling funds? No problem, his house would "mysteriously" catch fire while he was sleeping inside. What about the poor fuck who sold classified technology to the black market? He'd be found dead in a dumpster the next morning and whomever he sold the tech to would take a fall from the top of a skyscraper. Oh, I almost forgot the resistance and terrorist groups, as well as the more active gangs in the slums, who would get a little too rowdy. I'd off 'em like I was snuffing out candles.

I'd do my job, get paid, get plastered and, with a little luck and a lot of drunken charm, get laid. Hey, that rhymes, sorta.

Back to the point, my first assignment of many was the simple murder of a supposed assassin who was whoring up the company's prize general. Seems that just after we declared victory in the war, the wife of the head warlord was so smitten with him that she left her country, husband, and her ten-year-old daughter behind to come back to Headquarters with the General.

Word among the troops was that the General claimed her as his prize for victory, but the more skeptic who kept their info and shit straight saw through the grand charade that was taking place to hide the fact that the General was hopelessly in love with the conniving bitch. Blinded by his emotions, he wouldn't see the knife sticking out of his chest as he lay dying somewhere.

Strange thing about the assignment, though, was that the request for her immediate termination came from the guy heading Research & Development. But the orders were signed by the CEO and the entire Board of Directors, so I had little else to do but carry them out. I was even told by my superior to make the hit a messy one, for we had to knock the General out of his dream world and come to his senses.

So I took the largest caliber rifle available, loaded it with hollowpoint slugs, and set up on a building with a nice view overlooking the park where the General and his whore would walk in every night. My superiors never thought to give me a picture of my target, which is a serious error on their part, for the basis of every assassination or murder is knowing who to kill, so I decided to wait for the General to come into the open and I'd waste the woman nearest to him.

I hadn't waited more than fifteen minutes before the General came into view, with the most stunning woman I'd ever seen attached to his arm. Her long black hair contrasted sharply with her porcelin white skin. She was small, thin, and delecate, like an angel.

I almost couldn't do it. I almost couldn't gather the guts to kill her.

Almost.

I bided my time, like a wolf stalking his prey. Waiting for just the right time so send the company's wake-up call to the infatuated, silver-haired General I'm-An-Oblivious-Shithead.

They walked towards me, onto the street and around the General's limo. He opened the door to let her in, and I readied my .50 caliber sniper rifle, for this was my last chance to get the job done. Instead of jumping in the vehicle, she moved to kiss the General. When their lips touched, I sent the message.

I watched it all up close and personal through my high-powered scope. After the deafening roar of the gun letting loose death, the slug flew at analmost supersonic speed, and struck home.

I saw her head literally explode in a fountain of gore as the slug passed through the side of hear head and exited the other before driving through the limo and burying itself in the cement.

I watched in a sort of slow motion as the power of the round twisted her head around blowing her lower jaw clean off and almost taking the rest of her head with it. Even from my position I could hear the splatter of brain matter, skull fragments, and muscle tissue as they hit the pavement, car, and the stunned General. I could hear the loud cracking and grinding noises as the woman's spine shattered and twisted. I left quickly, leaving the rifle behind and came to the very bar I'm in now.

So here I am, lamenting over the most disturbing thing I've ever done in my life, and getting flat piss drunk in an attempt to forget.

But I can't forget.

Forever and always, I will be the killer, the monster, for I know.

I will always know that I was the rifle on that rooftop.

I know in my profile that I said I really wasn't working on anything else at the moment, but I wrote this one night when I had a bad writer's block (I hate them and they should all be executed...) nd I have since been debating with myself as to whether I should post this. It really isn't what I write all the time, but what is written is wrtten, and the show must go on. If anyone is completely confused by this, say soin a review and I willdo my best to E-mail you an explaination, because my beta reader's first reaction after reading it was, "Huh?"

Please R&R.