Copyright 2012 by Glen Allison
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Micah Cray watched through his rifle scope as its crosshairs crawled over the man’s face in a window a quarter mile away.
The hatch marks centered on the man’s forehead. Cray studied the man’s features, compressed as they were by the telescopic lens, and felt the familiar calmness come over him. He caressed the curve of the weapon’s trigger guard but trusted himself to come no closer to the actual action of the rifle.
Oblivious to any danger, the man in the window was bent over his kitchen sink, his lips moving even though he was alone in the house. Was he singing? Cray couldn’t be sure. From this distance, he could only see his prey through the rifle scope, not hear him. Not that it mattered to him what noises the man made. He might as well have been an animal, for all he cared. The man in the window was an animal. They were all animals. The initial gut-bomb of disgust he always felt upon first viewing one of his subjects up close had long since been replaced with the detachment of an Orkin man surveying a roach.