I sit on the roof in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to shot him.
I don't know why I am shooting him, but it doesn't really matter does it? In the end we all die, in the end we all will end up the same place we started this eventful journey that is called life.
But when I sit here and prepare myself to pull the trigger of my rifle I just can't seem to stop the thoughts that makes their way into my head, "is he married?" "Does he have children?" "Is he always the second choice like me?" But when he goes into the sight of the red dot, and I pull the trigger, feeling the recoil of my sniper rifle. Feeling the cold biting my skin from laying out on the Rolf for so long, the cold and hard ground beneath me.
I realise that I actually don't care that he now lays dead in his own living room, or that he is my 100th kill, I am so going to celebrate that later.
