A cold breeze, warm sunshine and the sound of tweeting bird, a comfort the sniper had missed greatly. It's slow and soft caresses on his skin and quiet stillness a contradiction to the world he had become accustomed too. He stood in the street in front of his Mother's house breathing in his surroundings; reaching into his pocket he collected his faithful packet of cigarettes.
A smile crept over his face, he realized this was to be the first cigarette he had had since the war broke, that he would be able to smoke completely. Reaching again into his pocket he withdrew a box of matches, struck one, lit his cigarette and inhaled the biggest drag he had ever managed. A satisfying feeling grew over the sniper, what unhealthy bliss he thought to himself as he exhaled.
He sucked again on his cigarette, to find himself back on the rooftop near O'Connell Bridge reliving his horrible memory of the mortifying ordeal. Again he raised himself to peer over the parapet and again was nearly met with what could have been a fatal bullet to the head. The sniper shook his head vigorously, wishing the flashback away. As he came too he realized he'd sweat through his good suit, the suit he had specifically put on to cheer his mr. A bead of sweat rolled over his brow and down his cheek to rest on his freshly shaven chin.
The breeze cooled him as his body shook, the realization of what he was to tell his mother froze him in fear. A fear unlike the one he had experienced away, he imagined the pain and disappointment in his Mother's eyes as he revealed to her the truth. How could he possibly tell his mother that he had killed his brother in cold blood? A pain shot from the wound on his arm and then numbness.
The sniper finished his cigarette viewing the neighborhood he'd grown up in recalling the childish things his brother and he had gotten up to on O'Riley and O'Grady Street. How innocent the world of a child was.
