The sniper stood there for what, to him, seemed like eternity. What broke him out of his trance was the hail of bullets aimed …show more content…
He looked around gingerly for any Free Staters and took off in a rapid sprint. I have to get to safety. I have to be free. He ran into an abandoned building and the first time in years, he began to cry. The sniper went through a lot in the last few years. He went through things that no person should ever have to go through. As tears went down his face a thought struck him; I have to be free. He was never free. He never will be free. He was a solider. He was regimented. He killed his brother. He was a defender. He was a soldier. That was all he was… a solider. He thought of all the soldiers he killed. Soldiers he did not know the name of. When he dies, is that all he will be known as? Another faceless, nameless soldier who died in the name of his country? The sniper didn’t want to be another solider. The sniper didn’t want to die. He hadn’t lived yet. If he wasn’t killed, could he live again? Could he live with the fact he killed his brother? That he killed other fighters whose families are probably grieving for him? Would his family care if he were killed? Could they accept him after he killed their son? After the war is over will he be free? Or will he always be the restricted? He had to do something to fulfill his purpose. He has to have one? He wasn’t born to …show more content…
His fingers slightly tapped the letters on his typewriter. The sniper made it his life goal to tell others what war brought on, what he had to lose. He could never forgive himself for being responsible for the death of his brother. He had been working on a book full of his experiences of the war, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain some things. He looked at the family picture on his desk, covered in dust, slightly blurry, but the memories were as clear as ever. It was over 15 years old. He remembered how when he was seven, he spilt lighter fluid all over his mother’s carpet. He remembered how his older brother took the blame for him. The sniper remembered hearing the loud smack against his brother’s cheek. He remembered it being swollen for days. He remembered fishing with his father and brother. He remembered the family dinners he missed. He drifted back to sleep. He murmured in his sleep, begging for forgiveness. In the darkness, he saw an angelic hue. “I forgive you, “ It