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Essays:Your complete focus is on the act you are about to carry out. Everything else ceases to exist. You do not hear the sounds around you, though you are distantly aware of them, as in a dream. You hear your own breathing, feel the thump of your own pulse. You suppress these to achieve an inner calm.
You sight down the barrel of your M1A. The front sight stands out in clear detail, while the rear sight and the target is slightly blurred. Your quarry is unaware. He does not see you as you lay on the ground in the high grasses, with bushes all around you. You are one with your environment. You are not here. You are a ghost, a fiction.
You take a deep breath, let it half way out. You are ready. Slowly, deftly, you apply pressure to the trigger. It moves only a few hundredths of an inch; each second crawls by. The target moves. You automatically move the front sight blade with it... locked to it...wherever he goes...no thought involved. Then suddenly, your rifle bucks against your shoulder. You are unaware of the kick of the recoil. You do not see the muzzle flash. You do not hear the concussion of the round as it fires. You maintain your sights on the target, only the front blade in clear focus. You are aware of the dust that flies from his clothing, the ripple of his shirt. Everything is crystal clear, slow motion, every detail in focus.
He falls silently. As soon as he is still and prone, you fire again, and again you are aware of the dust from the bullet’s impact. Wounded men can still kill you. Dead ones cannot. It is done. You do not move. There may be a sniper. You will wait and move out of the position as you entered—slowly, close to the ground. A ghost.
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Home Literary Arts Visual Arts Recording Arts About Zephyr Archives Contact Graphic Version
Mendocino College Online Journal of the Arts - Spring 2002 Text Version
Mendocino College
1000 Hensley Creek Road
Ukiah, California 95482