Standing in the clearing, I stared down the scope of my rifle. The familiar shake of adrenaline pumped through my veins but I took a deep breath to control it. With my hands more stable, I scanned the area for my target.
Everything seemed clear, but everything is not always as it seems. From my hiding spot in the treeline, I decide to continue to wait. Patience has always been my greatest attribute. I could wait here for hours. Days maybe. But I knew I wouldn't have to.
Right on cue, something stepped into the clearing and looked around. I would have to wait for a clean shot. It wouldn't take long. My target does not have the training I have. It would all be over soon.
My target advanced to the center of the clearing. My sights were clear and the cross hairs of my scope aimed square on his chest. I could probably take him down from here, but I felt cocky. I would let him get further. I would let him get closer. He would feel safe in this clearing. The adrenaline was back. Watching my target and knowing he was unaware of me made me feel so alive.
My finger danced on the trigger, itching to give it a pull but my pride would not let me. I wanted to push everything to the edge. I wanted to live there. My target would never see it coming.
He stepped closer and my heart thumped faster. Sweat streaked down my face and into my eyes but I ignored the burn. I could only focus on the vacant look on my target's face. He was clueless to the fact he was being watched. He had no idea his demise was only a few yards away from him. Just a few more steps and his fate would be sealed. I would be the victor.
The suspense was too much. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to take my shot. He was close enough now to feed my ego. I had watched him long enough. Taking in a deep breath, I stared down the scope yet again and placed the cross hairs on his center mass. Pulling the trigger several times, I watched as the spray of red covered his chest and bled to the grass below.
My target dropped to his knees in surprise and let out a yell of pain. "Jesus Christ, Brad, that's going to bruise."
I laughed as I popped up from my hiding spot.
"Did you have to hit me so many times?"
"Yes I did."
I laughed again and slung my paintball gun around my back. Once again, I was the victor.
To cover up his search history, Evan Bond is a thriller/suspense author. As an outdoor enthusiast and horror lover, Evan Bond enjoys writing stories where the two come together. He lives in Florida with his wife and two sons.