Code name “Spider”


I made few little flags I carried around the streets, those trashed paths where every fourth building spreaded on them like guts of a roadkill. Tumbled cars were good place to hide, but my bullets ran through them like paper. Busted glass laid under my feet, furniture burnt and heavy smell of decay was what I usually saw inroute. Ah, the chaos and depressiveness. How did I came to love you?

I moved a lollypop to my cheek, pulled out a small flag and stuck it between bricks, then I placed the other one between the crushed car’s door and third I left on a lamppost I found laying in the middle of the street. I took out lollypop and licked sweetness from my lips before I joyfully jumped downwards to the scorched caffe at the end of the dead end street. Like a spider I crawled in the rubble and covered myself with rotten clothes I found on the floor. Now it’s a waiting game.

Silence was what I hated the most. Occasional gunfire raised eyebrows, but not to the point where I needed to save myself, besides, I was a hunter, not a pray.

Lollypop thinned out so I crumble it and chew it in chunks. I’ll save the stick for one more flag, so I gently slided it in my pocket. I wanted to lit my cigarette, but smoke and red burn might cause me trouble. A bubble gum then. I ate four. Wait, is that a man?

Some guy just entered the serpentine of trash and looked around for something useful. His grey hair stuck out from the naturally grey landscape like a candle in the night. Long “Dragunov” barrel stretched out from the pile of concrete and fell to place. First flag, not moving, second was slowly waving, the third stood still. Optical sight change to one click, corsair checked, bullet loaded. He was thirty metres away, so I aimed at his chest for a headshot. His movement was irregular, hand shook from the old age, skin rippled on his face and neck, clothes half thorne, half aged looked like unskillfully patched blankets. I focused on him, followed him appear and disappear behind the marked car. He had no clue he was monitored. A little more further and I will flatten him out. Step after step he bended to go through the trash, moved garbage cans and looked around himself frightened. Was he feeling cold to shake that much, or it was the arthritis that took over? He was out of meds for years probably, but his worry was food. Poor guy, stray dogs picked up whatever was there a long time ago. Should I kill him or not? He seems so helpless, hopeless, weak. Will he appreciate the quick and sudden death? Focus, damn it! You are hungry too!

Shot jerked my shoulder and blood sprayed onto the wall. I came out from the shelter and went to him. A clean shot made him fall straight down with his legs and arms folded aside like he was sleeping. If it wasn’t for the pond of blood by his head, I would think he was a homeless man sleeping. His pockets were empty, his shoes full of holes put a pitiful grin on my face, then a baby cry tickled my ear. I swiftly took out little flags I used to follow the wind and with my Dragunov ready to fire I ran up to the crossroads. A twist on my ankles set gunsight around the corner on a young woman holding a baby in her arms. She was sitting down on the sidewalk, trembling with fear, headscarf pulled over her hair and forehead. Little thing in her arms was crying, craving for food she couldn’t make from the scraps she ate days ago.

Suppressed whips came from the woolen scarf while she rocked left and right. My sniper slowly fell down and a gasp blew the vapor from my mouth. What have I done? This was probably her father, or a very good friend. Oh, God. I made a mistake.

Next time, I’ll be focused.



DRONSTAD Facebook page where spider web has taken over.

Hello there. You like people shooting people?… What’s wrong with you, FREAK?!

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