With his hat on backwards, he picks up the rifle, grasping it firmly and planting the butt-end against his shoulder. Beads of perspiration sprout on his forehead as he peers through the scope. He centers the cross hairs directly on the target. He momentarily holds his breath to calm his nerves and steady his stance. This is it!! He gently squeezes the trigger. PING!!! He watches through the scope as the lifeless target immediately falls down. “We have a winner!” barks the carnival worker as he hands the prize to the eight year-old boy.
by Doug Bartlett
From: Friday Flash Fiction