Short Story Writing - One Shot

He saw his prey from afar, and he could taste the excitement of a kill. His breathing intensified, and he could no longer control himself even after years of training. This always happened though, and this is why he loved the hunt. A pure feeling of instinct, no time to think, but just enough time to act. He felt his hands start to shake and he knew it was time to begin. He pulled back the bolt of his rifle and loaded in one bullet, because that's all he would need, and any further shots would be a waste of lead. He pushed the bolt forward and it clicked with glee at being given an opportunity to show off its skills.

The area was lined with a myriad of nature to disguise one self's movement. The overcast sky set the perfect backdrop for what was about to be done. He moved with a discreet swiftness, almost like smoke running away from a fire. Branches cracked beneath his feet as the forest of nature provided infinite paths to his prey.

One last tree and a field of bodies was all that stood between him and his target. He saw his prey, and smiled maliciously as he knew what was coming next. His prey was crouching beside a rock, as if it was trying to become stone itself. It's disguise wouldn't fool him though, because rocks didn't carry rifles. He crawled towards his stationary prey, through the bodies of many a fallen comrade. He could take him out from here, but no, that's too easy. The closer a kill, the more impact behind it. He moved slowly, slower than the air swirling above him. Even the dead would be impressed at his impersonation.

Finally, he thought, this was close enough. He slowly raised his gun and directed the sights right on his prey's head. He saw for the first time the face of his prey and saw it was dark, as if every shadow had gathered there. He knew it was time to act, and with one last breathe, he steadied his gun and felt the trigger. A loud snap pierced the sky, and his prey fell. His eyes grew and he felt a rush of warmth in his stomach. He hadn't pulled the trigger yet. He knew his prey hadn't shot because it was lying there, stationary as he was. He turned his head around and noticed another hunter, standing far away, soaking in all the glory that should have been his.

"God dammit ahhhhhh!!" he shouted, as he threw his controller on the couch. "That was my kill!"

He stared at his TV with a defeated look. He sat motionless, stationary, another dead body upon the suburban tundra.



Yay so my prompt this time was a very open one. I was basically supposed to write a story from a 3rd person perspective. No idea how this story came to be. Just thinking of Call of Duty probably. I actually kinda like parts of this one though. I wrote it in less than an hour so I think its pretty good for that amount of time. Cheers :)