Time gathered apace. Everything sped up, pushing me towards the day. D-Day. I didn’t know what the D in D-Day meant though. My D meant death. My D-Day was next Tuesday. Next Tuesday! The words reverberated around my head.
I couldn’t think about much else. All I could do was plan, imagine, visualise and persuade myself that this was for the best. At times I’d catch a glimpse of my bruised face and be convinced that this was the right thing to do. That if I could just eliminate a rank, a captain, then they’d get the message that Little Town wouldn’t be taking this occupation lying down. Old Country couldn’t throw their weight around willy-nilly without there being consequences. Punishment.
I had to do it.
All I needed to do was make friends with the thing. Get better acquainted.
On the Thursday evening I went to the shed, making sure no one was on my tail or watching me. I took it out of its hiding place and carefully removed the bullets – one by one. I held it outstretched for as long as I could. Twenty-two seconds. My arm ached. I sat back in one of the chairs for a breather and thought about my next move, how I’d do it. I held it up again, looked through the aimer. Aimed. Licked my lips. Squeezed the trigger. You have to pull really hard. It’s definitely not like the movies where it’s all bang-bang-bang stuff. You’d need a finger of granite to do that. I’d have to practise the routine of aim, squeeze and fire. It needed to be rapid. Lightning speed. No hovering about to admire the work afterwards.
There in the shed I tried out a few technical moves. I bent down behind one of the chairs, jumped up: pulled the trigger. I walked three paces, swivelled sharply: pulled the trigger. I lay face down, dived up: pulled the trigger. It became more comfortable, less heavy. I practised standing up, kneeling down and lying in the sniper position. The Big Man suggested kneeling down; it’d be easier to make a sprint for it.
After I replaced the bullets and fed it under the floorboards I didn’t want to touch it again. My mouth became dry.
I didn’t want to do it.
But,
I needed to do it.
Mum needed me to do it.
Pav needed me to do it.
The Big Man was making me do it.
But,
I didn’t want to do it.