The Futile Life – Part 2

The soldiers had surrounded him. They circled hungrily, waiting for his next move. One of the soldiers – who looked to be in charge – licked his lips in anticipation as he pointed his machine gun at the target.

Suddenly the target exploded into an extremely bright light. Yellow as the sun, its rays plunged like daggers into their eyes. The soldiers were momentarily blinded. Their hands reached for their foreheads to cover their eyes… but.. before they could finish that action completely, red pellets of concentrated light streamed in unison at all angles from the bright light before them. Their pain was intense. They fell like dominoes. They didn’t have time to scream.

[pussies outnumbering the single target… let them die…]

***

The Sergent felt like he was in a dream. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He was lying on the ground, his weapon still clutched tightly in his hands. He tried to say something but his throat was paralyzed.

He had had nightmares like this. In them he was always in the middle of a battlefield. The enemy was always surrounding him.

Looking at him.

Smiling.

Yellow crooked Teeth.

We’re going to kill you.

Not long now.

Better do something quick.

Oh, you can’t.

No pity for you.

Rifles lifting slowly to aiming position.

Slowly.

Wait for it.

He tried to get up.

Move damn it.

Move.

Get up.

Body felt like lead… too heavy to move.

Can’t get out of the way.

Bang.

He always felt insecure while the blood was rushing out of him. Then he would usually wake up in a sweat.

Not this time. It wasn’t a dream. He was the target this time.

The light had now disappeared from the so called “target” – the enemy. The enemy was a young man dressed in black with very short black hair. He smiled, but his teeth were white. He removed his protective eye wear. He kept his eyes on the one that was still alive… The Sergent.

The Sergent began to raise his gun. They stared at each other. The man began to raise his index finger.

It was a race to see who would shoot first.

The Sergent would have cried from the pressure if he could have. He strained to move.

Suddenly…

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