There were ten hours to go. Ten hours then the world would speak his name.
The sniper raised his rifle and adjusted the telescopic sights on to the gathering crowd below the window of his lookout. A young mother was crossing the street, a toddler in tow. It so could have been himself many years before. He thought back to a time where he was playing contently with a train set. His father in a drunken state had come into the room and brought his size eleven shoes crashing onto the toy, smashing it into small pieces. How he had wept as his father laughed, then shout,
'Stop your whimpering little brat or I will take my slipper to you.'
There were nine hours to go. The gunman lay his rifle against the window and looked again out of the window. A woman dressed in black walked by, her face covered by a veil. Behind the veil he saw his mother's tears as she drew him close to her. She brushed his hair softly back as she gently said,
'Your daddy has gone to a better place now he will not suffer any more.'
But he did not shed a tear that day as he was just pleased that there would be no more beatings.
There were eight hours to go. The sniper looked across the street to an alleyway. He noticed two youths who had pinned a younger boy against a wall. He heard in his mind one say,
'Give us your money dumbo.'
He wanted to shout out,
'No, don't give in, fight back.'
But knew the younger boy would succumb eventually. Just as he had always done.
The gunman leaned against the wall of the small room on the 12th floor of an unoccupied office block. No-one knew he was here, no-one ever noticed him but soon he would no longer be a nobody. He drifted into a light sleep dreaming the same dreams, restless disturbing dreams. The fights in the playground, the name calling.
The sniper awoke with a start to noises below. Looking at his watch he saw that there was just one hour to go. Below the window the street was lined with onlookers, police and members of the armed forces. The sniper grimaced,
. 'Army, what a joke, they give you a gun, teach you to shoot then throw you out for doing your job.' He shook his head., 'Yes thrown out for shooting the enemy, for not asking their age. They always had it in for me anyway, now somebody’s going to pay. This Government sucks.'
The sniper picked up his rifle again. Five minutes to go, five minutes to world fame, no-one will be laughing at me when its over. Below he saw a young boy holding a red balloon. The balloon slipped out of the boys grasp and floated up to the gunman's window. The young boy tugged his mothers dress pointing. The sniper said out loud,
'Stop pointing little squirt, you'll miss all the fun.'
Lighting a cigarette he leaned out the window and burst the balloon as it floated by.
For a brief moment, the sun refected off the open window. causing the sniper to blink and bring his hand to his eyes. Below a. long line of cars were now approaching. The crowd cheered as an open-roofed car came into view. The sniper adjusted the sights and moved his finger to the trigger. Suddenly he was aware of sounds behind him, a door being broken open and voices. He heard one shout, 'Freeze, drop your weapon'
The sniper smiled as he moved his finger closer to the trigger. Then he felt a pain in his chest and slumped to the floor. As he lay on the floor he heard some-one shout, 'The Presidents been shot'
Another voice, 'Where from?
'The warehouse across the street.'
The sniper smiled as he drifted into unconsciousness, 'I will be famous after all, as the assassin that never was.'