Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Writing Contest Entry #2

Theme: "One moment in time"

Word Count: 550 (500 +/- 50)

Opponent: Ennia


One more moment...

Oh God, please, one more moment...

How could one moment be so many? I can feel her holding my hand, holding me close. I can see the world as it was, as we made it, as it will be. I can smell the ash and smoke in the air. I can feel her tearing my heart in two, hear her last footsteps echoing in the living room. I can taste my mother’s prized pecan pie and my shame at the same time. Is this my life? All that I’ve done, seen, been…. and this is the summation?

One hundred-fifty meters to target.

In the distance, in that other world, I hear shouting as people begin to realize what I’m doing. They know nothing of why I must, so I ignore them. Or would I have anyway because it’s easier? I always had trouble understanding myself, why I do what I do. Is this, even now, selfish? Is this now? I don’t suppose it really matters.

One hundred meters to target.

She always did think it was. Ever since we met, selfishness was her battlecry. Was she right? It’s hard to tell. I tried to go back to her, oh God, I tried. But did I merely want the comfort of her presence? Something I was accustomed to? She would know. She did know. Maybe it’s better that she wouldn’t take me back. Side-step left, one point five meters to avoid the first shot.

Seventy meters to target.

Who took the first shot, anyway? Metaphorically, I mean. Did we really start this war? They say we did. We say we didn’t. Either way, this has to happen, but who holds the blame? Or is it just one long line of snipe and countersnipe back the beginning? Third suit to the left, gun is improperly holstered. Quarter-turn clockwise and block upwards. Duck to avoid tackle exposes holster. Seven shots in clip.

Forty meters to target.

It certainly was with her. So playful, so deceptive, wit and parry, hurt and healing. What I wouldn’t give for one more moment with her, to just bask in that wonderful presence! It feels as if she’s here with me now, impossible though I know it to be. Would I be so selfish as to desire it? I could almost imagine her running with me now, our stride in lockstep, a wishful dance of lethal perfection. Two rounds, first and seventh agents. Up three steps, lean back twenty centimeters to avoid sniper fire. Up four steps, jump handrail to use as barrier.

Twenty meters to target.

Was it just an imagining? Can machines dream? The vision, so clear, so horrible, yet so undeniable, the product of equation and reality. Did it have to come to pass? Or did I willingly cause it to be in my haste to be the martyr? So selfish. My God, so selfish. If only I could turn it back, try again. Surely, there’s another way? One round, front-left tire causes escort vehicle crash. Three rounds, two agents within and driver. One round for primary target.

I can see her face. I no longer have to imagine the look of shock, her eyes stare back at me in terror. Why did you make me do this?

I’m sorry, my love.

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