Perfect Moment
A Short Story by Richard Hamer

They said there would be times like this. Perfect Moments, when the whole world seems to hold its breath, and every star, every atom, everything seems to revolve around you. A moment when a tremendous sense of peace blankets your body and, more than any other time before or after, you become locked in a moment.

In this moment, Karma means something. You know of you, but also of the you before and the you soon after. You know your place in the universe with perfect clarity, and you know exactly what you must do.

Simon opened the black leather case slowly and peered inside. Each component gleamed softly in the light, nestled snugly in their individual foam recesses.

Scope… Silencer… Rifle… Bullets.

Simon looked down at what he had to work with, and he saw that it was good. This was modern technology, new and exciting. It practically begged to be used. He obliged.

First, he slipped on the gloves. Then, he extracted each component and laid them carefully on the wooden desk next to him. After a moments thought, he stroked each part, to get a feel for it. The butt locks into the back of the rifle, the scope on top, the silencer in front. They fitted perfectly together, just like Simon knew they would. He held it up, and examined his handiwork.

Moments before, it had just been components… mechanical parts. Beautiful in their own way, but just tools. They were potential, intent. Now, carefully reassembled… they were an ‘it’, and ‘it’ was a weapon.

A Sniper Rifle. This was no pistol, no plastic fantastic pop-gun craftily stuffed down the back of your trousers, just for ‘protection’. This was a rifle - transported, reconstructed and used for the singular purpose of killing.

And Simon was very, very good at it.

He held the rifle to his shoulder and felt its reassuring weight against his body. He flipped open the scope cover and peered through. Outside of the dank hotel room, the bright midday sun shone high, down onto the park below. Children ran back and forth, while their home made kite sailed on the currents of the wind… old men sat on benches, peacefully feeding the ducks… sticks were thrown for over-excited dogs… life continued outside like any other day.

He adjusted the sights, and watched as the view through the scope focused and unfocused. Then, he began to sight randomly – first at a kid bending to tie his laces, then a cyclist on his way to work. Again and again and again - he flicked the sights between different people. Male and female, old and young – centring those little crosshairs on each head, feeling the power that rushed through to his fingertips.

At this time, in this place, whether they lived or died was based entirely on his whim. With that much power, you couldn’t help but think of yourself as a god. You were better than those down there – because you had the power, their lives were in your hands. He shuddered with delight.

The sights whipped quickly across the park, and saw the mark. A fat man in a black suit, busily walking down the gravel path – a bodyguard at each side. He didn’t know anything about him, except that he was ten thousand pounds inconveniently wandering around. It didn’t matter who they were, all that mattered is that that you were in the position to centre that life in your sights…

…And snuff it out.

Click – click…

He slotted the bullet into the chamber and lowered the rifle briefly. Simon mopped his brow with a handkerchief and quickly glanced at a photo of the mark – they matched. It paid to be certain. It paid well, in fact. He raised the weapon back up and got the man’s fat lemon head locked between the crosshairs – ready for the kill.

He looked at the target. The black lines had converged on that one point – and it was all down to him now. He began to squeeze the trigger…

Simon’s whole personal universe ground to a halt. He squeezed the trigger…

The world exploded…

The sound blossomed out like a flower, the deafening noise gradually filling all the empty space. It was… a perfect moment – the past was irrelevant, and the future was uncertain. The bullet sailed, twisting in the air, direct in its purpose. And then slowly, so achingly slowly it was like time itself had frozen, the bullet found the mark…

… And with the panicked screams of children, and the flights of startled birds, that perfect moment was over.

Richard Hamer
9th March 2004