I looked down my scope at the man, cooly smoking a cig, his gun across his lap. I smile to myself, he doesn’t even know im here. I suppress the elation inside me as I tighten my grip on the trigger, waiting to paint the wall with this mans blood. He takes another puff and reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a small photo. Its probobly his wife or kids I think to myself. What will they think when they learn he isnt coming home? NO! Dont think about them just do it! Waste that motherfuker! He’ll probobly kill more of YOUR people tomorrow! But what will his kids do at night, when their moms at work and their dads 6ft under thanks to me?Fuck the kids! Kill him, thats your job! the rational part of my brain screams at me. I realign my eyes with the scope, just in time to see a tear course down the mans cheek as he gazes longingly at the photo. Unable to look, I tear my gaze away from the scope and pack up my gun.
I hate my Goddamn job I think to myself
Below, the soldier takes another puff and sighs