Marksman

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a project for my high school Creative Writing class. I have to submit a piece that I have written before.

Submitted: December 13, 2007

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Submitted: December 13, 2007

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Troy Walters supports himself on the bed with his elbow and squints his eyes as the beams of sun illuminate the room. He gets out of bed and sulks past his daughters’ rooms into the kitchen. He retrieves the “#1 Dad” mug from the cabinet and gets out coffee beans to begin brewing his coffee. After he takes out a round coffee filter and walks over to the coffee machine, he realizes that there is coffee that has already been brewed.

“Thanks Honey!” he yelled.

He pours the heated coffee into the mug and sits down on the wooden stool on the island in his kitchen. His eyes are bloodshot and he struggles to support his eyelids from being forced shut. He takes a few sips of his generic coffee and twitches from the bittersweet taste.

“I’m going to wake up the kids!” He shouts without receiving a response.

He walks past the family pictures on the wall taken from Christmas, Michelle’s 3rd grade portrait and Sarah’s baseball pictures. The expressions in the picture force a smile out of Troy. He remembers those days like a movie scene. He walks to the closed door of his daughters’ room and twists the cold silver doorknob, feeling a rapid motion of an icy sensation down his back. He opens the door and looks puzzled as he inspects the empty beds in the room. He moves out the door and stumbles back up after tripping over Sarah’s teddy bear. He rapidly walks past the kitchen into the living room. The only human in the room is the reflection of Troy from the TV staring back at him.

“Becky!” panicked Troy.

He runs to the front door and sees the gold metal chain unhinged from the door. As he opens the door he observes both of his cars untouched. He scurries back into the house and to the phone and dials 911. The rings felt like centuries as obscure scenarios are burned into his mind. Troy’s breath becomes short puffs of air as his lungs balloon open with fear.

“So Mr. Walters, how was your coffee?” the mysterious male voice questioned with a smirk. Troy froze. Nothing registered in his mind for those countless seconds. The bubble inside of Troy that was previously fear, turned into anger.  

“What have you done with my family?” Troy yelled.

“I’m keeping them as a souvenir. I hope that’s alright.” The man on the phone chuckled.

“What do you want? Who are you?” he questioned, as hate and vengeance swirled in his mind.

“Just a favor. I’m told that you were in the army, a sharpshooter to be exact. You can just call me John”

“No, I won’t do it.” Troy firmly stated.

“Well, how would you like to receive your daughters’ limbs in the mail each week? You wouldn’t want to hurt your family would you?”  His words slithered through the phone holes. They crawled into Troy’s ears making him shudder with despair.

“Alright, alright, tell me what you need.” He gave up and sighed.  The whole time he pictured his family, his wife who he had just seen the night before. How could he have lost them?

“I need you to handle someone for me Troy.” John explained.

“You want me to become your assassin?” Troy questioned absurdly.

“Yes, I left the address next to the phone. It’s a warehouse, an abandoned warehouse where one of my enemies runs her business. I need you to get there and eliminate her. Get on top of the warehouse and there will be a weapon ready.”

“How do I know that you’ll return my family after?”

“You don’t have many other options do you?” John laughed.

“Alright, I’m on my way.” Troy finished.

After hanging up the phone, Troy peeled the post-it note from the side of the phone. He knew the address. He passed the building countless times in the car. He picked up the car keys from the dresser and locked the door on his way out. As Troy reached the building, he passed a white van, and looked at the driver. They exchanged glances as Troy drove to the alleyway. He got out of his car and made his way to the fire escape stairs. He looked up and saw the endless flight of stairs that extended to hell. The minutes passed as he stumbled up the cold rigid metal stairs. He finally reached the top. There were rows of sky windows, some of them broken from the various weather conditions. He looked around and saw a black briefcase with metal sidings on it. He walked over and opened it. Inside was a 334 bolt-action rifle with a laser scope. His eyes widened as he observed the gun. He assembled the gun with ease. He had done it too many times before in the army. Also inside the briefcase was a note that gave a small description of Troy’s target. The target would have a black bandana around her head. Troy lay on the ground and looked through the scope of the gun. Hundreds of people scurried around the warehouse with machinery and wooden crates, stocking them into trucks. Troy looked into the upper level floor where a group of people stood around. Troy scoped the level out and saw a woman sitting in a chair with the black bandana around her head. He took aim, calculating the distance and angle he would need. He flipped off the safety and put his finger on the trigger. Troy’s memories from the army flashed in his head. He remembers the faces of all the people he killed, one after another, just part of his job. Finally he pulled the trigger. The bullet raged out of the muzzle. It violently shattered the glass and lodged itself in the head of the target. Troy sighed and continued to observe through the guns scope. He saw the hundreds of people run around the warehouse out the emergency door from the shot. As he looked for the last time at the target, her neck angled and her head tipped back. Troy stopped breathing, his muscles tensed up and his stomach caved in. It was his wife in the chair. Her blond hair soaked in blood. Her arms dangling off the side of the chair while the black bandana covered her eyes. Troy dropped the gun and began to cry as the sirens in the distance rang out like a church bell. Troy was overlooking the city from the building, watching the cars drive by as his memories passed and burned into his mind.

 


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