Waiting placidly in my dark room for the email, I started getting weary. It was not before I gulped two shots of vodka that the email arrived. The attachment had a girl, probably in her twenties. I was awed looking at her curly hair. I had a penchant for curls since a very long time, totally unaware why and how it begun. Any girl would envy her smile. Her complexion is a subtle shade of Indian duskiness and the dimple on her cheeks would leave you with no option but to adore her.
I had no option but kill her. I am already paid. The other tab had me checking my bank balance. Brushing aside my impending proximity to her beauty, I packed my usual stuff. My wallet boasts hoards of credit cards. I love being noticed, but I’m scared to live in the limelight. Years ago, my efforts seemed futile when I tried to coalesce my intense craving for science and my not so bad intellect in material designing. My handful of patents made no money. There were no sponsors and no company wanted to hire me. Some claimed I was over qualified, some critiqued I was overambitious and a plethora of other reasons gusted me every day for almost two years when I had to keep asking my girlfriend for pocket money to make ends meet, promising that someday I would repay my debts. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s only when I broke up with morality, hooked up with common sense savored with a little bit of ruthlessness that I could not only pay off my debts but also comforted her with a sprawling five acre villa, a Bentley and a Labrador.
Killing is my profession now. I deject limelight, which potentially is unsafe but I am very famous, known only to a couple but wanted by many. I operate alone, just like any other sniper do. I charge a hefty fees and it’s non-refundable. It used to surprise me why would anybody make such an unreliable investment. Nevertheless I made none of my clients regret their choice. I am only nine kills old but each of those is as precious that I have a bounty of ten million riding on my head. It feels great, and I am perplexed why it never scares me. Life taught me a lot of lessons and evading fear has come involuntarily.
Real sniping is mere mathematics, with little courteous heed to innate ability and eagle eyes. I don’t remember straining myself practicing hours altogether for the perfect shot. My kills have come easily. You just have to know when to kill rather than how to kill.