Disclaimer: Unless the voices in my head are right, and I don't think they are, I don't own.
Yet another strange oneshot. Please R&R? Guess who it's about.
Gunshots were almost relaxing now. The war was over, in all likelihood he wasn't rejoining any army, but he still stood here, when rightfully he should be asleep, and fired at the targets. The handle was warm, like his own hand, but the trigger was still cold. Just like him, prehaps. A warm heart, but a cold tongue. Good ideas, but the wrong method. Why was it that everyone he knew could make the right choices, when he stood there and screwed up. Every time.
The blasts rippled his hair. He wasn't wearing safety glasses. He should be, but he couldn't. This, this was the only place he could be himself. The only place where he didn't need to cover his face. He wasn't wearing the muffs either. But he couldn't think up a resonable excuse for that.
That was what his life was. Lies, excuses, mistakes. Just a mistake. That's what he was. A mistake.
His eardrums pounded. Maybe he should just leave it here for tonight...
His fingers continued to squeeze the trigger. The movement cold. Every shot hit home. Every bang dulled the sound. Nothing seemed to change. No other movement bar his fingers. He couldn't leave it. Couldn't walk away. He was nothing more then a robot, doing his only function. A toy soldier, the last one in the box.
His gun, his range. His only home, his only safety. His weapon, his life, his death. He smiled and turned the barrel away from the target.
One more shot. One final bang. His hair ruffled more this time.
Well, whatcha think? Please review? Pretty please? Oh, and my spell checkers busted. So, I'm real sorry about any mistakes.