The air was crisp as snow fell to the ground. Light flakes dancing gently from the sky. It was almost serene. Almost. Three hundred yards away, a terrorist was getting ready to make a deal with an arms merchant. Around them, couples huddled together to keep warm while kids snuggled under blankets and sipped hot coffee or cocoa.
So, I waited, hidden in the underbrush, finger on the trigger and eye to the scope. Waited for the moment he would step onto the sleigh. Waited for the moment to pull the trigger. Waited for the moment to end his life.
Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: Friday Fictioneers
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