Vietnam Sniper

VietNam Sniper It seems that the night lingers then departs clawing for one more minute, but in a vain attempt to defeat the sun. The encumbered fog groans and gently rises from The ground to allow fixed eyes to see with piteous recognition, the bushes that hide death. Then as he probes, a shadow appears, then the black of the VC. A thousand fears reach down to tear at his stomach yet, that faceless body is grained, too late to question his mind. The weapon jumps, down its barrel, a moan in silence. Blood reaches down to paint its crimson stain on the ground. He knows it’s there, the blood is spent. Now, the weeping, something has died in him. As for training he might have laughed. They never trained him for this. He thought it was just a target. He knows, the truth is told, the pity of war, the truth war brings. He lays there retreating into silence, retreating to hide behind a wall. eyes see yet, not seeing. ears hear yet, not hearing. They do not speak, no need, they both know. He holds his spirit in for surely, it will leave too. He bleeds where there is no wound. It seems that he escaped down a long, dark canyon, only to return moments later by blood thumping in his brain. He returns to his training as feelings are pushed back and he feels his indifference replacing his thoughts and again it's a target, a face in the dark, a target and not real.