The Sniper-Short Story Sequel
The sniper slowly turned over the dead body of his brother and looked into his face. Rapidly, he shook his hand away and looked deeply at the face of his brother with unblinking eyes. His heart raced twice as fast, his head pulsated, and his body was trembling with fear. Slowly, he struggled to manage to even sit up straight. He closed his eyes and had listened to the dim roaring of weaponry in the distance around him. Vibrant images of his perfect shot crashed through his head over and over again until he became unconcious.He woke up and raised his good arm and wiped the drops of sweat that were trickling down his face. As his hand made its way back down his face, he slowly opened his sealed eyes, and once again, stared down vainly at the corpse in disgrace.
The sniper sat there on the hard soil paralyzed with pain, guilt, and devastation for what had seemed like forever. He wanted to cry aloud and yell, but he knew he couldn’t. What could he do? He couldn’t just sit there and wait for the corpse to go away. He realized he had to do something with it. - Something good, something respectful. That will keep his brother ashes in good remains. He could bury it. He thought for awhile about how he would go about doing this. Finally, he plotted out a plan in his head. He decided to carry the body to a quiet and peaceful place, a place where it was all calm and undisturbed. He thought of the meadow by the lake and its peacefulness and perfection. He thought of his arm. He looked down at his blood-drenched arm and tried to move it. A sharp pain stabbed his arm like a thousand knives. Cringing at the pain, his eyes misted. How could he carry this body if he could barely lift his own arm up?
The sniper looked around and saw numerous stone buildings to his far right, a large wooden cabin to the left, and the rest was open grasslands with trees scattered about. The more he looked, the more impossible this task was beginning to seem for him. He wiped his damp
The sniper sat there on the hard soil paralyzed with pain, guilt, and devastation for what had seemed like forever. He wanted to cry aloud and yell, but he knew he couldn’t. What could he do? He couldn’t just sit there and wait for the corpse to go away. He realized he had to do something with it. - Something good, something respectful. That will keep his brother ashes in good remains. He could bury it. He thought for awhile about how he would go about doing this. Finally, he plotted out a plan in his head. He decided to carry the body to a quiet and peaceful place, a place where it was all calm and undisturbed. He thought of the meadow by the lake and its peacefulness and perfection. He thought of his arm. He looked down at his blood-drenched arm and tried to move it. A sharp pain stabbed his arm like a thousand knives. Cringing at the pain, his eyes misted. How could he carry this body if he could barely lift his own arm up?
The sniper looked around and saw numerous stone buildings to his far right, a large wooden cabin to the left, and the rest was open grasslands with trees scattered about. The more he looked, the more impossible this task was beginning to seem for him. He wiped his damp