This is a bit of story i wrote one fine day and i can't post it on the writing part yet so I'll post it here for now...tell me what you think
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The rain comes down upon the dead city, the city has no name it has no pride it died many years ago when the madness swept over the continent. As I sit upon the rooftop of an abandoned armoury, long since raided, stripped and broken. The former occupant still sat in the chair he was shot in times since past, his corpse nothing more than a husk of bone in tattered rags.
I look down the scope of my rifle; slide my left hand up and down the fore grip for no reason, just to give my mind a sense of security. I am a soldier through and through nothing more or less, I fight for the rite to live, I kill for survival and pillage to stay alive.
The scope scans the area over and over, viciously seeking a target, a prey. The scope is a predator, finds its target fixes, locks, the trigger its mind, always waiting for the moment to pounce and the barrel the claws, always clean to kill its prey, I am just its vessel whom guides its shot.
The eye snatches the second, sees the prey, swings and settles as it targets, locks, my finger tightens on the trigger, the wind dies, target locked three second trajectory time, two…one, fire the shot rings out and the shell smashes into the skull of its prey helplessly it flops to the ground and retches in its own blood, bad luck indeed.
The rifles bolt drives up and back, forward and down in the blink of an eye the empty cartridge shoots out and falls to the ground, the usual clink is deafened as a second shot sung out, washing over the battle torn arena. Without thinking my cloak covered me as my rifle slides under my arm, I rolled to my left as the movement is hailed by a long concentrated salvo of rifle and machine gun fire rips the low wall of my last position into chunks of exploding concrete and dust.
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