Killing the Cat
The rifle kicked into her shoulder as the first shot was released. There was a small flare at the silenced muzzle of the high-power gun as the bullet sped to its target. The rooftop vantage point was perfect for her task. Okay, so the task may be construed by some as a little strange, but she was enjoying herself far too much to worry about others.
Through the telescopic sight, she watched as the fat jogger in the park fell to the ground between slow juddering steps, clutching his chest roughly in the region of his heart. At least he won't have to worry about sweating off those extra pounds any more, she thought to herself with a smile, ready to swing the rifle round to her next target.
She selected her next victim, a lone hooker slouching on a street corner, looking as though she could do with going to bed for some rest instead of her usual reason, if indeed she used a bed. The rifle nudged her shoulder again, as the next shot spat quietly from the muzzle.
Through her private window on the world, she saw the hooker suddenly slump against the wall to her left. All thoughts of trying to score were immediately removed from the nameless woman's mind, as the bullet intruded itself within her brain, brutally forcing her body to simply slide down the supporting wall, blood starting to run down the back of her neck.
The gun swivelled again, this time the sight found a young child playing with a puppy in her back yard. She forced herself to squeeze the trigger slowly, allowing herself to savour the moment. Click. The round had jammed in the chamber. Damn. She lowered the gun from her shoulder, and operated the lever which ejects the cartridges. This simple manoeuvre allowed the shot to go free, and she decided to refill the chamber with another round.
She returned the gun to its original position, resting on the low wall at the edge of the skyscraper roof, and nestled it against her right shoulder once more. She grimaced her chin into a comfortable position, and adjusted her right eye into the sight. There was little chance of her finding the same target again, so she continued on regardless.
Her vision rested finally on the distant edge of the Freeway. There was a driver whose car had some kind of trouble, parked at the edge of the road on the hard shoulder. The driver was evidently waiting for some kind of rescue service, as he was sitting on the hood of the car, looking agitated and he kept sliding his shirt sleeve back and glancing at his watch.
His worries about time were ceased suddenly as her rifle again pushed with almost bruising force into her shoulder. The bullet took the guy in the back of the neck, almost certainly severing his spinal cord, killing him instantly by the looks of things.
She had thought she would feel more emotion. She felt nothing though, and she felt she had to attribute the lack of feeling to the distances involved. The lack of any feedback was also detracting from the experience, no sound other than the muted thud of the rifle shot. The whole experience was a trifle disappointing, if she was totally frank with herself.
Never mind, a few more and we'll see what develops. The gun swung again, seeking another target.
Through the sight this time came the image of a young-looking banker or stockbroker emerging from the main door of a huge building, presumably a bank. She couldn't tell, as there wasn't enough room in the image to see any kind of sign in the front. There was only the man. He doubled over, clutching his stomach shortly after the rifle nudged her shoulder again, this time the force seemed to be harder though, maybe even bruising.
The tender skin in the front of the crook of her shoulder was unused to this kind of prolonged abuse. Sure, she had taken a few practice shots, and they had hardly hurt at all, once she got used to expecting the kick from the gun.
This time though, her shoulder was beginning to hurt, she had obviously bruised it with that last shot. Maybe just one more, that should be enough.
She was determined to make this one more worthwhile. She waited, aiming at a busy street. Then suddenly, she saw what she wanted. A man in a blue uniform walked purposefully through the fine crosshairs of the telescopic. He was quite obviously following someone. That should mean that he will have been on the radio with someone for backup or something, someone who would notice what was about to happen.
She started to feel some excitement at last. The possibility of discovery was looming ahead, albeit a bit distant, as she would have plenty of time to get away, and once she did that, there would be no tracing her at all. No-one knew she was here, and no-one around here knew who she was.
With that in mind she let off her last shot, taking the policeman in the back, just to the left of his spine, slightly below the shoulder blade. He was knocked forward with the force of the impact, and he stumbled to the ground.
As she began to move the sight away, she saw a few bystanders begin to take notice in the fallen officer.
The thrill of the slight possibility of being caught passed through her again, stronger this time. She lowered the gun, and began to dismantle it, packing it back into the case.
At last, she had begun to feel something. Maybe she could do it again sometime, to see if that feeling could be brought on again. Maybe stronger next time. Time to lay low though. Just in case there is any heat.
The rifle kicked into her shoulder as the first shot was released. There was a small flare at the silenced muzzle of the high-power gun as the bullet sped to its target. The rooftop vantage point was perfect for her task. Okay, so the task may be construed by some as a little strange, but she was enjoying herself far too much to worry about others.
Through the telescopic sight, she watched as the fat jogger in the park fell to the ground between slow juddering steps, clutching his chest roughly in the region of his heart. At least he won't have to worry about sweating off those extra pounds any more, she thought to herself with a smile, ready to swing the rifle round to her next target.
She selected her next victim, a lone hooker slouching on a street corner, looking as though she could do with going to bed for some rest instead of her usual reason, if indeed she used a bed. The rifle nudged her shoulder again, as the next shot spat quietly from the muzzle.
Through her private window on the world, she saw the hooker suddenly slump against the wall to her left. All thoughts of trying to score were immediately removed from the nameless woman's mind, as the bullet intruded itself within her brain, brutally forcing her body to simply slide down the supporting wall, blood starting to run down the back of her neck.
The gun swivelled again, this time the sight found a young child playing with a puppy in her back yard. She forced herself to squeeze the trigger slowly, allowing herself to savour the moment. Click. The round had jammed in the chamber. Damn. She lowered the gun from her shoulder, and operated the lever which ejects the cartridges. This simple manoeuvre allowed the shot to go free, and she decided to refill the chamber with another round.
She returned the gun to its original position, resting on the low wall at the edge of the skyscraper roof, and nestled it against her right shoulder once more. She grimaced her chin into a comfortable position, and adjusted her right eye into the sight. There was little chance of her finding the same target again, so she continued on regardless.
Her vision rested finally on the distant edge of the Freeway. There was a driver whose car had some kind of trouble, parked at the edge of the road on the hard shoulder. The driver was evidently waiting for some kind of rescue service, as he was sitting on the hood of the car, looking agitated and he kept sliding his shirt sleeve back and glancing at his watch.
His worries about time were ceased suddenly as her rifle again pushed with almost bruising force into her shoulder. The bullet took the guy in the back of the neck, almost certainly severing his spinal cord, killing him instantly by the looks of things.
She had thought she would feel more emotion. She felt nothing though, and she felt she had to attribute the lack of feeling to the distances involved. The lack of any feedback was also detracting from the experience, no sound other than the muted thud of the rifle shot. The whole experience was a trifle disappointing, if she was totally frank with herself.
Never mind, a few more and we'll see what develops. The gun swung again, seeking another target.
Through the sight this time came the image of a young-looking banker or stockbroker emerging from the main door of a huge building, presumably a bank. She couldn't tell, as there wasn't enough room in the image to see any kind of sign in the front. There was only the man. He doubled over, clutching his stomach shortly after the rifle nudged her shoulder again, this time the force seemed to be harder though, maybe even bruising.
The tender skin in the front of the crook of her shoulder was unused to this kind of prolonged abuse. Sure, she had taken a few practice shots, and they had hardly hurt at all, once she got used to expecting the kick from the gun.
This time though, her shoulder was beginning to hurt, she had obviously bruised it with that last shot. Maybe just one more, that should be enough.
She was determined to make this one more worthwhile. She waited, aiming at a busy street. Then suddenly, she saw what she wanted. A man in a blue uniform walked purposefully through the fine crosshairs of the telescopic. He was quite obviously following someone. That should mean that he will have been on the radio with someone for backup or something, someone who would notice what was about to happen.
She started to feel some excitement at last. The possibility of discovery was looming ahead, albeit a bit distant, as she would have plenty of time to get away, and once she did that, there would be no tracing her at all. No-one knew she was here, and no-one around here knew who she was.
With that in mind she let off her last shot, taking the policeman in the back, just to the left of his spine, slightly below the shoulder blade. He was knocked forward with the force of the impact, and he stumbled to the ground.
As she began to move the sight away, she saw a few bystanders begin to take notice in the fallen officer.
The thrill of the slight possibility of being caught passed through her again, stronger this time. She lowered the gun, and began to dismantle it, packing it back into the case.
At last, she had begun to feel something. Maybe she could do it again sometime, to see if that feeling could be brought on again. Maybe stronger next time. Time to lay low though. Just in case there is any heat.