hunkered in a bunker
a slit; tired light spilling through
canvas of dawn tickling my brow
scope overlooking the sea of
hills, fields, copses, rivers.
body flat and still and aware
hairs prickled upright on the nape
forefinger fawning with excitement,
eagerly tempting gunmetal trigger.
when do they arrive, I wonder.
convoy of trucks, greenish goliaths
trundling up ashen road
dust pluming upwards like lung-choke smoke
men, bad men, men with guilt -
- ignored, flung aside; walking astride
the devil.
jaw clamped, crosshairs primed
a face quartered and penetrated
breathe
breathe
trigger. the power of gods.
to smite an enemy down from distance
(Zeus would be proud.)
tick tock, tick tock.
unwitting birds nested in solace. on a dirt road,
a farmer driving a tractor.
breathe
trigger.
blam
blam
blam
blam.
blood hisses from scorched wounds
eye peels away from sight
rifle disassembled.
the driver halts his tractor. he has heard.
so have the birds. no chirping.
so be it.
job done.
mission accomplished.
hurrah, huzzah, all’s well that ends
well.
Nov 27, 2025
Nov 27, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC
hunkered in a bunker
a slit; tired light spilling through
canvas of dawn tickling my brow
scope overlooking the sea of
hills, fields, copses, rivers.
body flat and still and aware
hairs prickled upright on the nape
forefinger fawning with excitement,
eagerly tempting gunmetal trigger.
when do they arrive, I wonder.
convoy of trucks, greenish goliaths
trundling up ashen road
dust pluming upwards like lung-choke smoke
men, bad men, men with guilt -
- ignored, flung aside; walking astride
the devil.
jaw clamped, crosshairs primed
a face quartered and penetrated
breathe
breathe
trigger. the power of gods.
to smite an enemy down from distance
(Zeus would be proud.)
tick tock, tick tock.
unwitting birds nested in solace. on a dirt road,
a farmer driving a tractor.
breathe
trigger.
blam
blam
blam
blam.
blood hisses from scorched wounds
eye peels away from sight
rifle disassembled.
the driver halts his tractor. he has heard.
so have the birds. no chirping.
so be it.
job done.
mission accomplished.
hurrah, huzzah, all’s well that ends
well.
A much more narratively inclined piece, my inspiration stemmed from ‘The Night Manager’ by John Le Carré. His clinical, sophisticated style of writing is undeniably satisfying to read: its physicality and attention to detail make it irresistible, impossible to put down.
Snipers or more generally assassins are a mainstay of the spy genre: our most notable fictional spy, Bond, has encountered many a murderous gun-for-hire. Perhaps it is a perverse fantasy to imagine myself as a hitman. A childhood and succeeding adolescence spent brandishing modified assault rifles and shotguns in shooter games has made the appeal of the firearm-toting action hero linger on the mind.
We all want to be the hero: in reality, politeness and decency accomplish this. But in fantastical dreams, being the renegade with the rifle is much more attractive.