Writing Prompt

It started out as any other day. Rolling around on the floor with the kids and the pets. It was all so much fun. And then he saw it. The familiar red dot. It was making its way up his torso. He did not know how, but the Sniper had found him.

His military training kicked in and he grabbed his two children under his arms like two sacks of potatoes. Heavy potatoes. When had they gotten so heavy? Or maybe he had gotten out of shape. It did not matter. He had to get his girls out of harm’s way.

“Daddy!”

He ignored the shout.

“Daddy! What are you doing?”

The dog was right at his heels. Ever the faithful companion. She would protect the kids if the Sniper got him. He turned hard into the girls’ room. He slammed the door behind him. The dog barely made it in with her tail.

He hunkered down by the girls away from the window. “Shh.”

The two youngsters hunkered down too. They were smiling. And laughing.

“Shh.”

“Why are we hiding daddy? Is it hide and seek, and Mommy’s it?”

Cassandra! He bolted out of the room. “Cassandra!”

She was there in the middle of the room. She smiled at her husband. “Where did you go in such a hurry?”

He was still crouching. He saw the red dot again. It was on the floor in front of Cassandra. The kitten pounced on it. Then the dot moved and the kitten pounced again. He smiled. This was not a war zone. The Sniper had not found him. For he had found the Sniper long ago. And there was no reason to fear. No reason to fear at all.

The wind slipped almost quietly between the buildings that remained in the plaza, whispering tales of death and decay on its passage. The largest of the skyscrapers, the ones that formed the Exchange, showed no signs of doing any business, if anything it appeared as though these old buildings had cashed out many years ago.

If you were wise, you wanted no business with them.

Trash still covered the edges of the roads, stuck in gutters and inlets, pressing up against the buildings, mounded around poles, and caught in doorways and alleyways. Vines grew up and along many walls, and broke through openings in the litter much like the weeds fighting their way up through the pavement. One of the buildings, the First Regional tower, was the second tallest tower in the cluster, and was mixed use in its previous life. There were shops and restaurants and more on the ground floor, apartments on the lower few, and offices on the upper half of the building.

Lloyd sat, with his back against the wall of a 6th story patio, the highest residential floor, remaining perfectly still. He’d been in this building before, years prior. He and Rachel worked a few blocks over, albeit in different directions. He at the law firm, the most prestigious one in the city, and her at the recruitment center, always scouting for future marines.

They met at the Italian joint downstairs a couple of times for lunch, usually in the summer, and those had been some of the better lunch dates; since they were earlier on in their marriage. They were memories which he held onto dearly.

His grey camouflage didn’t quite match up with the stone colored bricks behind him, but they were the closest texture clothes he could find to match this west-facing wall. He liked this building because of the three exits on the ground level. Lloyd always liked to have options.

The sun was flirting with the horizon now, hues of orange casting a sheen on the open air; and he took plenty of time taking it in. Lloyd felt like in earlier life the owner of this apartment would have a cocktail in hand, would have smooth jazz playing, and wouldn’t be hunched against the wall with binoculars in their lap.

Lloyd kept his guard up, since he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t be alone here. She and her crew been chasing him for months and though he was pretty sure that he had this section of the city to himself, he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.

The string and glass bottle alarm he’d set inside the apartment remained silent in the day plus he’d been here, and the only noise which came from below was the whipping wind and the occasional rodent scurrying nearby. He’d been out here for the past few hours watching the horizon through the glass railing and decided he’d soon retire himself to bed. Just as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon.

It couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes out from setting when he saw a new light on the horizon. It scattered rays of red through the glass, and his eyes focused, then squinted, his brows furrowing. Lloyd peered down at his chest, confirmed his suspicion, his fear, and saw the red dot fixed squarely over the area of his chest that contained his heart.

The sight took a few moments to fully register, but from the perspective of whoever was on the other end of this red dot, it might as well have been a full minute. Lloyd had given them plenty of opportunity in his delayed reaction.

He dove to his left, throwing his body onto the tiled patio, hoping to at worst catch the bullet with his leg. He heard the loud and sharp crack break across the sky and echo between the hills and the building. By the time he’d landed on his left side and started crawling toward the apartment, the bullet, which must have been huge, obliterated the glass railing and ripped a 3 inch wide hole in the wall behind him.

The slight delay taught Lloyd that the sniper was pretty far away, a quarter mile at least. As he shuffled his way into the apartment over bits of glass, which found their way into his hands and elbows, he groaned from the ache in his back. He pressed himself against the other living room wall which he’d noticed was at least a foot thick based on the space between the it and the exterior visible from the porch.

As he caught his breath, Lloyd froze, hearing shuffling in the alley a few stories below. Then, all of a sudden, a whoosh sound, and a small brown package landed clumsily on the porch, denting the corner of the cardboard box appreciably before coming to rest.

He backed away and into the room quickly, initially suspecting that someone had just lobbed an explosive right into his personal space. He listened for more movement in the alley below but all he could hear was a muffled noise coming from the box.

Upon closer evaluation, albeit with his head held low and out of suspected view, he realized there was a speaker in the box. He grabbed it hoping for the best, carefully cut the packing tape with his pocket knife, and found inside a two-way walkie buried in now yellowed packing peanuts.

He had heard noise from it previously, and it had been mostly quiet while it was unpackaged, but now that the radio was in his hand it startled him when it chirped again. A female voice greeted him, “You’re lucky there’s a northerly pushing bullets around today Lloyd”.

“God dammit Rachel, why won’t you leave this and leave me alone”. His words hung in the air for several seconds and he felt the contemplation on the other end of the radio.

“Why didn’t you leave that secretary of yours alone?” She said, and another round struck the wall behind and a little right of where he now sat.

“That was years ago! And it was nothing, she means nothing!” Lloyd explained, sounding exasperated and desperate for belief.

“Just like you”. Rachel said into the walkie. just a degree over whispering.

It was then that Lloyd heard the footsteps scaling the stairwell and the radios chirping. outside the apartment. He decided in that moment that he was tired of running from his wife, from his fate.

He slumped back against the wall, his head coming to rest against the unpainted concrete with thoughts spinning in seemingly every direction.

He took a deep breath and tried to push as many of those thoughts out of his mind as possible. He pictured the pasture at his parents house upstate, and a teenage winter, with a foot of pristine snow covering the hills. He remembered the silence, then sat up a little straighter just as the door to the apartment erupted. The white pasture in his mind started swallowing the blue sky until it reached all the way up to where Lloyd couldn’t see.

"We are almost out of here, alright-" Erica says as she hoists a teammate over her shoulder to help him walk as he was badly injured. Blood spilling out where his leg had once been. She had tried to use a makeshift tourniquet but there was only so much she could do at the moment.

Suddenly a red dot appeared on her chest making her stop in her tracks, her eyes going wide as she looked to see where it was coming from. They had been running so long she hadn't even thought about snipers. She should have known there would be someone in the sky. "fuck hold on, I promise I will get you out of here" she says to the man next to her, who was doing his best not to bear all his weight on her as he hobbled.

She contemplated moving but did she really want to risk being shot. Hunter was loosing too much blood but he would be left for dead if she was killed. She weighed her options and decided to start walking. As she hobbled, struggling to walk with the weight of the man on her shoulder, she watched the red dot follow her movements. "all this for what?" she grumbled under her breath She was wondering what she did to deserve to die like this, she was only 20 and had made the rash decision to join the faction after a breakup, as she was looking for an escape. Yet here she was on the verge of death carrying a man half her size to safety.

He froze the red dot moved as it moved across his chest He looked curiously at it Heart panicking calm still fright close to death Could not move Crapping my self Sweat poured my face I looked at the laser light On the distance I could not see the sniper Helpless Deep breath the light moved away Huge exhale I crouched down A shot rang The person behind me fell clumped toy the floor I went to help rang 911

Black-eyed peas with rice. Ging looked from the front of the khaki green pouch to the insides and back again to the package’s front. The package said Hopping John, which sounded festive and at least edible. Instead it was just more brown sludge that smelt of beans. Ging poked his fork in the pouch and retrieved a slimy mouthful. Prepared for the worst, the soldier opened his mouth. That’s when Ging saw the red dot.

The Sniper had found him. With a shrug, Ging returned to his breakfast. At least it was evenly hot, he thought. Last night’s korma was molten on the bottom and icy at the top. A lot of the MREs were defective. Capt. Clark said cold rations were the price of war. Ging thought that meant Olde Earth was cheaping out and buying discounted rations from Mars. He read the list of ingredients. The red dot on his chest moved slowly up.

Snipers liked to play games. There had been heavy fighting earlier in the week, but the last few days had been peaceful. Baker Company was mostly patrolling the Brandywine, rooting out any rebel robots that had been missed. Ging looked at the burnt umber dirt and the twisted blackened trees. He had been born on Mars to a mining family. His folks and baby sis immigrated to work as miners on Saturn. Ging had decided to join the military to earn a homestead. Ging took another mouthful of beans. He’d had worse. The red dot was off his chest and was probably on his forehead for all he cared.

The Sniper was ready to make their move. Eating more quickly, Ging could taste onions and red peppers in the beans. He thought of his mother’s stew and wished for home. Ging didn’t understand this war with the Androids. They were either tools or people. If they were tools then the Androids should follow the rules. And if the Androids were real life people because they caught feelings and learned thoughts they should still follow the goddamn rules. Everyone followed the rules. No one got special rights. Ging’s folks worked their fingers to the bone for next to nothing. No one gave his family anything. In the bush, Ging heard a gentle rustle to the left as he picked a hunk of garlic out of his teeth.

Ging belched. That wasn’t half-bad, Ging thought. With a wrist flick, he flung the empty pouch to the right. It whacked the Sniper in the forehead.

“Damn it, Ginger, you got guck on my helmet,” Mirre said. “I just came to give you a hand.”

Snipers loved to take trophies. His pal lobbed a disembodied Android arm onto Ging’s lap. Grey and flaccid, it stank like rotten broccoli. Tossing it, Ging gagged and Mirre giggled. Content, Ging scratched at his belly. The hopping john was good but it knew it would give him an ache by nightfall. As Mirre went to retrieve her latest prize, Ging leaned back and hoped for a quiet night.

Michelle had abandoned everything after betraying her friends, only having recently escaped Eleni's grips. The streets of Greece were just as complicated as they were before but this time she was alone.

Keeping her head down, she continued to make careful steps through different crowds, always having to turn back to see if she was being followed. Being surrounded by tourists made it easier to blend in which she couldn't be more thankful for.

Michelle was hyper aware of every movement around her, not knowing what anyone's intentions were anymore. It seemed in hindsight, she should have focused everywhere, especially the skies.

The red dot sat blaring bright against her shirt, a thick gulp moving down her throat before shaky eyes looking up in the direction. The person was masked fully, not an inch of their skin was showing but the finger on the trigger was enough for Michelle to panic.

Just before the bullet could pierce her chest, Michelle rubbed against her ring and vanished with a prayer to Erebus.

A red dot appeared on Travis’s chest, and on instinct he was moving behind cover before the shot can reach him.

He was never a fan of his younger brother’s twisted sense of humor.

People panic when a bullet shatters the glass of some store display, the commotion blending with the ringing in Travis’s ears. His breath shallow and skin clammy, he can only wait hoping Cas had already fled from police.

“Would you say the suspect has any sort of connection to you or your family?” The officer rehearsed, with an expression that said he had already done this twenty times today.

“No, i don’t know the man personally. I just know i’ve seen him around the area acting like he’s capable of making a wikihow on ten different ways to smoke crack,” He answers with that trademark New Jersey bluntness.

Despite the situation, the officer manages to crack an amused smile at travis’s colorful description. The smile is gone just as quick as it appeared when the seasoned cop presses further

“Is there any reason someone may want to harm you or your family?”

“My father’s in prison for a lotta things, he pissed more than a few people off in his lifetime. But i don’t got specifics, and the list is longer than my—,”

“I get the point, mister Morozov. Just contact us if something new pops up.”

Travis fixes his long ebony hair as he exits the police station, eyes darting back and forth across the faces passing by. He can’t help but wonder if Cas is here, stalking him, playing with his head. Travis couldn’t tell the police the truth about Casper, about the boy hidden in the attic.

Even when trying to focus his thoughts elsewhere, all he can think about are those dark blue eyes filled with horror and fear.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault what happened to them. Travis did what he could, leaving to join the military and taking the boy with. It was the only way they’d escape their father. He tried to help Casper, they were brothers after all. But he was beyond help, and everyone knew it. Travis should have never snapped at him like that, said those harsh words. Alerted the enemy.

Indirectly causing the explosion that turned the only family he knew into bits and pieces of unrecognizable flesh. Red visceral horror floods the room until travis feels as if he’s drowning in it. Clawing for a way out, his head surfaces the water with a sharp painful gasp.

He fell asleep in the tub again. His mind still reeling from the dreams that quickly fade into oblivion, he tries to remember how he got there. Was he shot at? Was the officer he spoke to real? He got his answer when his eyes were drawn to the foreign yellow sticky note on the bathroom wall. A singular red dot inked in the middle. There was a fine line between a game and a trap, and the brothers walked on opposite sides of it like two spiders on a kiliedascope web.

Violence

The hardwood floor was chilled by the winter air. It was uncomfortable, but it meant safety. Travis never liked the feeling of warm floors against his feet, it made him look down every five seconds to make sure he wasn’t standing in fresh pools of blood. But the cold wasn’t enough to ease Travis’s mind tonight, not when Casper was back in town.

It took hours before Travis had succumbed to exhaustion, his body on high alert almost as default. Sounds of movement pulled him out of what could have been a peaceful sleep, making Travis get up with weapon in hand. The living room was lit up with an uncomfortable nostalgic orange light, and his father dead on the table. Cas was here, he did this, set this up.

Travis’s panic was pushed to the back of his mind when the white light of day peeked in through the curtains, the bed uncomfortably hot. These nightmares are becoming a pain in the ass.

“You’re late,” was what Travis expected to hear. Instead, he got silence as the whole office watched the news. A shooting at the downtown strip mall, closing down the area. This must be so shocking for them to see, Travis just can’t help but feel contempt for these coddled rich bastards.

“New to violence?” The words leave his mouth with not as much sugarcoating as he probably should have used.

“Save it, Morozov, someone could have gotten real hurt out there,” Cat chided from behind the receptionist desk. As much as Travis wanted to look down upon her sympathetic nature, he knew deep down that his own lack of compassion was why everyone around him got hurt. Not to mention he relied on Cat’s compassion to keep her from saying that out loud.

Bang!

It sounded like someone dropped a dumpster off a five story building. It shook the whole office— in both a figurative and literal sense. Everyone rushed for cover, hoping wherever that sound came from, that their friends and family weren’t anywhere near it.

Only travis hoped Cas was near it. Near enough to be killed, or caught before anyone else got hurt.

She is breathing heavily, her chest rises and falls. Her arms rocketing back and forth, pushing her forward. Aches begins to cover her muscles . Her tongue dries and sweat runs down her back. The sound of branches breaking echoing behind her as she runs. The sounds of her silk dress tearing on the branches puncturing her heart with each step. She then begins to stumble into the air as pain grabs ahold of her left foot, she falls to the earth.

On the ground a large stump had pushed to the surface. She notices pressure in her nails and looks to see large clumps stuck between her fingernails. A sticky hotness drips down her cheek and over the side of her lip. She wipes it off and jumps up to see a large oak tree to the east of her. As she nears it she sees a hole has been carved out in the middle of it.

A sound of a gun cracks in the distance like thunder. She slams her hand over her mouth to cut off a cry. Hobbling towards the tree pathetically, she slams into with relief and no more stamina. Slipping into the hole with a prayer taking a final look to her left and right for security. She slowly sinks into the tree, and begins to access the damage. Her once silk evening gown has been torn into a cocktail dress. her legs are covered in blood and her feet were covered in dirt. Her pinky toe no longer had a nail on it anymore. Was she yielding to death?

Closing her eyes she feels the pounding of her heart. Looking down at her chest a large red dot forms onto her skin above her heart. A cold shiver rings throughout her body. She begins to close her eyes and pushes a deep breath out.

“Kennedy, run!” A strong hand grips around her arm and pulls her out of the hole and she stumbles out.

Emorry felt sweat drip down his forehead, as his chest was illuminated by the blinding red beam of a sniper scope. A greener recruit would see a collection of images, a collage of fleeting memories reminding them of the life they're losing. Emorry only had flashes of grueling training sessions flood his mind, and a cold clarity and decisiveness. As ripples of kinetic energy spread emptily through the cold, dark desert, a muzzle lit in the distance like a murderous beacon, alerting Emorry to the positioning of the sniper, and the starting trajectory of the bullet. Emorry estimated the sniper fired from 725 meters away, give or take. Tucked away, in the rubble of what used to be a building, the sniper's covered face was illuminated by the flash. A blur of camouflage clothing and black face paint made it clear the marksman was a member of the United States marine corps. With a second to spare, Emorry flattened his back against the wall to his side, the cold stone breathed life into his fatigued muscles. He crawled under the window he'd been taking up space in before slinking his way through the halls of the abandoned building. The sharp turns barely hid the bodies, of who used to inhabit this house. A husband laid out at the door, women and children hidden in the bathroom, their lifeless faces away with anguish and fear. This was not a noble war. Emorry had witnessed the ceaseless bloodshed firsthand. Nobody was spared. This war wasn't on a military; they had been sent to destroy a factory town. This place was supplying the enemy with munitions, so it was a tactical benefit to the States to destroy it, but these people weren't soldiers. Emorry's conscious weighed on his stomach like a ball of molten lead. Too many innocents had died here. Emorry slung the AR platform over his shoulder, with a muted thud. Loyalty be damned, somebody had to stand against this. Emorry cracked open the backdoor to the house, and heard hushed whispers. More men in camouflage circled around the house, trying to exploit Emorry's pinched positioning. The words "AWOL" and "deserter" were thrown around, as the men excitedly made their way to Emorry's last vestige of safety, but they were greeted with a hail of fire. Emmory tucked in the corner, and all at once, caught the enemy off guard. Weapons down, and overconfident, the soldiers fell quickly to unexpected, automatic fire. Emmory lowered his weapon and approached the body of an ex-teammate, the walkie talking buzzing with inflamed questioning, "We heard gunfire. Tell me it's done, is Sergeant Emorry dead?" Emorry crouched, pressed the button, and brought the device to his lips, "Yes, sir. Requesting transport to retrieve the body, and confirm the kill." Emorry sat with his back against the wall like a treacherous statue, rifle in hands, and just like that, against home and country, Sergeant Emorry declared war.

To whoever it may concern,

Oh god I hope someone is reading this. I mean if you are reading this then someone is reading this but that doesn’t matter now. There’s a red dot on my chest. They have found me. You don’t understand, you won’t understand, you can’t understand the importance of this. If I die the information dies with me. Someone must know. The king, if you are reading this tell everyone! The king must be stopped no one knows the danger he is putting everyone in our must tell the people. Not the police, DO NOT ALERT THE POLICE!! They are working with The King they know what they are doing and if they know you are reading this they will kill you too. I don’t know if I have enough time to tell you everything, oh god. There’s another dot. Don’t get side tracked! Okay, the king, he is testing something, I am unsure what but you have to trust me he has all the best scientists working for him, whether that is against their will or not I don’t know. They are building something. Something dangerous. You must tell people. Get the word out but don’t let anyone tell the police or anyone who may snitch. You can only become loud after there are too many people for the police to arrest. Burn this letter. Once you have read this burn it, it cannot be traced back to you or me. Burn it and bury the ashes. Please, you must stop the king YOU MUST STOP HIM!

Good luck, H.S