55 Fiction

The bullet passed through the soldier’s chest, decorating the linoleum floor in a fine, maroon speckle. Time momentarily froze as the tranquility of a routine patrol was shattered by the silent death of a sniper rifle.
CRACK! came the rifle shot, and every man in the room took cover, smearing the delicate pattern of blood.

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The soldier died, felled by a bullet through his chest. He never saw the man who shot him. One hundred seventy days into his deployment, and he’d never fired his weapon. Had he not died instantly, he might have taken solace in the fact that his brothers in arms were now alert to the ambush.

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