by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|Waiting is the hard part. Arnold Yang took in a shallow breath before adjusting his grip on the sniper rifle. It would be soon now, if the bird oracle warning him from the branch above was right. Nature didn’t fool around. There were prey and predators.
“Spot on. Give him the bird.” Arnold Yang, special forces operative in a foreign country murmured softly, almost silently as death.
His feathered companion moved closer, curious about why the cluttered leaves were moving. She fluttered down to land on the barrel, walked along its dull surface until it met Arnold Yang's oriental face.
“No bugs here darling. No worm larva feasting on a corpse. If my patience pays off, I’ll offer you that.” The words were spoken in such a soft whisper it could have been a stir of dying wind. The birds feathers fluttered but did nothing more.
They both settled back. Waiting. The hum of flies drew both their attention. A sharp beak killed one settling on Arnold Yang’s forehead. Then another and the buzzing was gone. “Telling me, I’m crow bait, are you?”
The one way conversation ended with the raven rising into flight, disturbed by the sudden appearance of a coiled viper, fangs snapping at thin air.
Trained in the art of motionlessness, Arnold Yang remained part of the ancient forest’s background. Would his body heat betray him? Down below the sound of his own prey articulated into being. Money and the brash noise of crates of drugs traded places.
Arnold Yang felt the sting of venom enter his blood stream. The viper had chosen its moment well. The stock of his rifle became a violent club. Above, the oracle bird sang its praises of the mayhem down below. Dinner was being prepared.
The snake fell lifeless, releasing its jaws. Arnold Yang took his position, braced himself, sighted his prey through his scope. There was a single small popping sound. Then another following in its wake before Arnold Yang’s hand grew numb and the feeling began to spread. His heart was trip hammering.
Firepower from massed weaponry took the leaves off above his head. They fluttered down to cover Andrew Yang. He, himself never missed. The drug lord was no more. The opposing forces of the transaction spit death among each other, finishing the assassin’s job. There would be no winners today.
The last thing on earth Arnold Yang felt was the oracle bird announcing its own death as it plopped down, feet up, eyes glazed with a final caw. Its breast was bright with pulsing blood.
Flies found the open graves, becoming predators instead of prey. The circle was unbroken. Maggots were spawned. Arnold Yang was not left to rot without reason. He had a higher purpose unspoken by the oracle bird. His mentors would have been proud of the way Arnold Yang lay undisturbed camouflage sinking into the ground. Nature had given him the bird.
Waiting had come to an end. Nature's oracle had spoken.