shoot

Flash Fiction: Shoot

Keep your eyes on the red saucer, and shoot.

BANG!

A good try. Just a narrow miss. Now, try to predict the course of the disc and then shoot. Here it comes.

BANG!

AlmosFFfAW Challenge – 194tht there. You can do it. Remember your target practice. There is no difference, other than the fact that you are using live ammunition and the target is moving slightly. One more time.

BANG!

Good shot. The red saucer was blown to smithereens. What do you mean by what about the black saucer? Which black saucer? Oh fuck! That’s an actual flying saucer you idiot.

RUN!!


Word Count: 100

Prompt:

FFfAW Challenge – 194th

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A Perfect Shot

It’s a nice day today. The sun is not too bright and the soft breeze is caressing my face, flowing eastward. I remember my training, need to aim slightly west of the target. Good, that’s done. Now, to breathe in and keep my body steady like a statue, frozen in time. Keep my eyes on the target, not letting the crowd unnerve me. That’s it. Now, to pull the trigger straight back. Right on, and bingo- A perfect shot. The crowd roars.

I was born to shoot. At least that is what my head-trainer says. An average student at both studies and sports, I never thought I would arrive at such a high stage in life. But, the shooting academy saw some potential in me. It was surprising how their scouts approached my family after I graduated from school. They offered to train me for free. I had heard about amazing students getting scholarships, but this was something else. They said they saw hidden potential in me, and that as long as I paid heed to their advice and training, their choice in picking me would not be in vain. My family agreed to send me to the shooting academy. No one in my family had ever received any kind of scholarship before this, and this was a big thing for them. Still amazed at my luck, I packed my bags and went off to train at the academy.

The training was grueling, two years of a strict regime. Every day was the same. Getting up, followed by physical training, followed by theoretical lectures on the art of shooting, followed by target practice. The day ended with meditation practice. Keeping the body still and calm while shooting was an essential skill, they told us. I wasn’t the only boy they had seen potential in. I was a part of a class of sixty boys. It was an all boy-academy; there was no female member of the staff either. Over time, I realized the rules of the academy were strict. Failing a test led to expulsion from the academy. The rules forced me to stay at the top of my game the entire time. I could not lose focus.

By the end of the first year, my class strength had reduced to thirty. The training only got tougher from here. We were pushed to our physical and mental limits. However, I managed to find serenity in my shooting. There was something very calming about aiming my gun, steadying my body and being fully in tune with it. The satisfaction of hitting the target could be rivaled by no other feat. I had fallen in love with shooting. Very soon, I surpassed all my peers. Two years had passed and it was time for the final examination. We were told to fire at ten targets kept at varied distances. I aced the test. A bulls-eye hit in every target. My head-trainer was happy. It was then he told me that I was born to shoot. It reinforced my self-belief and I knew I was ready for the big league.

So after my two years in abaddon, I finally got a chance to showcase my talent today and I was successful in showing it. My training paid off. It was a perfect shot, a bulls-eye.

Right between the President’s eyes.