He lay on top the the flat rock, the rifle on its bipod. He lay for over an hour looking down the scope, a quarter balanced on the barrel. It didn’t move, not even once. Stillness in his lungs, stillness in his body. Breathe in, breathe out. Slow everything down, breath, heart rate, time. At some point he entered the zone where he and his gun had become one, that what he saw through the immense magnification of the scope, was an extension of his own eye.

Movement caught his eye, a car maybe half a mile away. He dialed clicks into the elevation drum of his scope. A lone driver in a beat up old blue Chevy. His finger hovered over the trigger, the guy’s head in the cross hairs. He let him pass. Life and death was in his hands, he was god like. All seeing, all powerful.



image by Harold “Doc” Edgerton