Blur

Chapter 1

BLUR

By Marty Longson

 

Copyright © 2013 Marty Longson

all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic. mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Original Cover Photo by Raymond Brettschneider

http://www.flickr.com/photos/namovaryar/4306455117/sizes/l/in/photostream/

CHAPTER 1

This letter is a sad goodbye to a world I no longer care to live in.  After my love and life were taken from me one year ago today, I have simply lost the will to live.  I have spent every waking minute since that fucking day looking for any trace of my wife and my son.   The police are useless, private investigators only drained my bank dry.  God damn leeches!  I hope this letter finds its way into the papers but to tell the truth I don’t give a shit anymore.  Fuck it.  I’m out.

-Mac

Mac Thomas threw down the pen and stared at the letter had just written.  Tears welled up in his eyes as the page trembled in his hands.  

“What a joke,” he cursed to the empty room.

The room was full of ghosts to him now.  Everything reminded him of Julie and Connor.   Mac let his gaze wander around the room until they came to rest on his son’s worn running shoes at the front door.  On top of the runners was a beaten up baseball glove and baseball bat.  Exactly were Mac had found them the day he got home from Iraq.  The old walls were hung with their photos and the closets upstairs were still full of their clothes.  Everything in the house was exactly how they had left it.  Everything that is, except for Mac, the paper and the black hand gun sitting on the coffee table.

Mac gently laid the piece of paper down on the table and picked up the gun.  He knew how this was going to end.  He had seen it far too many times during his tour in Iraq.  Hell, he had sent the bullet that did the deed on several hundred targets himself.  When a .50 cal sniper round hit a tango anywhere it was a kill but when it hit the head... damn it made a mess.  Mac had been a new breed of sniper back in the war, a hybrid sniper assassin that worked alone deep in enemy territory.  The traditional sniper worked with a spotter, someone that would help you zero in on your target, predict enemy movements and general have your back.  Not him though, he had been a Werewolf.  Werewolves were sent in alone and worked hand in hand with the armies’ newest weapons, the drones.  The setup was simple, his sniper rifle was tied into the drone network.  A targeting computer would receive instant updates from the drones and generally did everything a spotter would do.  The drones were amazing to watch, an elegant cog in the war machine.  All he had to do was get into position and pull the trigger.  Simple, easy, deadly... just point and click... a god damn video game.