Synopsis: A soldier gets bored after a long day in the sun.
Content Warning: Violence
The Soldier rested his back against the wall, taking a draw from his cigarette as he stared at the four men in front of him playing cards. Two argued that the third cheated, and the last was laughing in a way reminiscent of a donkey. The scorching sun stretched their shadows across the encampment. The Soldier stood alone, his dry lips stuck together from hours of silence, split in the middle where he held his Marlboro. They had been sitting tight for a few days, since the cease-fire had been called, and most soldiers had been enjoying their time off. Not the Soldier. He tapped his foot against the ground, eager to do something.
The Soldier pushed himself off the wall and picked up the rifle next to him. His black boots crunched against the ground as he walked. He entered the sniper’s den, a small area covered with a tarp at the edge of the base, and put his hand on the shoulder of the other sniper there.
“I’ve got this, Yusuf,” the Soldier said, the ashes from his cigarette falling as he spoke.
“How long’s it been," Yusuf asked, breaking into a yawn.
“Around three hours,”
Yusuf nodded and rubbed his eyes, “Yeah, I’ll just go get some shut-eye.”
The Soldier helped Yusuf up by the hand, and swiveled to pushed him out of the den. He mechanically fixed his rifle atop the beige sandbags that gave him cover. Sprawling across the sand-covered wooden planks that made the floor of the den, he put his head against the stock of the rifle and looked through the scope.
He and Yusuf took shifts watching an old road that passed by the base, linking Kurdish Syria and Turkey. The road had barely been traveled for a month. Cracks ran throughout the asphalt, and it was covered with sand from lack of use. He remembered when he was first deployed, overseeing tanks and armored personnel carriers driving into Kurdistan.
After a few hours of staring through the scope, his muscles grew stiff, and so the Soldier rested his eyes and stretched his neck. As he opened his eyes again, he soon found himself gazing at his dozens of tattoos on his arms, he remembered when he got each of them. Tattoos were very rare in Turkey, but he had started getting them at 16, sneaking out of his house to get them with his small sum of savings. His favorite was a cracked skull, with thorny vines twirling around it. As he grew older the quality of the tattoos got better. Most of the tattoos covered swelling lines. There were more lines on his back, where his dad’s belt met his skin. Some were lines on his wrist. Those he claimed as his own. The Soldier’s body was a gallery of pain that he had turned into beauty with his little inked masterpieces.
Then he noticed that tattoo with his mom’s name. Cliché, maybe, but it was important to him nonetheless. She was always there for him. She was there when he won his football matches. She was there for him when he shed his tears. When she wasn’t feigning ignorance of how her husband was beating her son, she iced his wounds and made him feel better. And now she was there for him on his arm.
The sound of spinning wheels drowned out the sound of music. The Boy was playing with his toys, an action figure and a toy featherless velociraptor, pressing them against each other to act out the fighting. He made sounds to imitate the grunts and groans of his action figures. The screeching of the velociraptor and the groans of the man. "Take that!" But he yelled too loudly and disturbed his father at the wheel. The Father spun around and smacked the Boy’s legs, making him yelp out in pain.
“Can you shut up for five minutes! If I hear another peep out of you for the rest of the ride, I’m going to break your windpipe so I can get some damn peace.”
The Boy stifled his tears, wrapping his arms around his legs to ease the pain. His mother turned in her seat and soothed the Boy’s bruise with her hand.
“Leave him be,” the father said. “if you keep babying him, he’ll never become a real man.”
The mother quickly faced forwards in obedience. The Boy knew she was just as scared as he was. The Boy’s tears fell onto his bruise, which helped somewhat. Soon, the father pulled over.
“I need a break. From driving, from you, from this fucking life. I get zero gratitude from either of you, and I’m so goddamn tired of it.” He slammed the door, and when he was a clear distance away, the mother turned and gave her son a kiss on the cheek.
“I know he gets angry a lot, but never mind him. You know, he loves you.”
The Soldier had stopped looking at his arms and was now staring into the desert. He shook his head to get some focus and reached for the water bottle next to him. As he drank, he saw dust rising far in the distance. He put down the bottle, seeing a Toyota driving across the road. The Soldier put his eye to his scope and took a closer look. The car came to a halt on the side of the road. He made out three figures inside the car, as one quickly opened the door and got out. It was a man, wearing a beige shirt and khakis. Half a minute later, a woman exited the other side, and stared out into the desert.
The Soldier stared at the figures for a minute, his hand grasping his rifle. His finger was itching. He hadn’t been in combat for weeks. But now, right there, he finally had a target. A hundred kilometers out, no one would know where the shot came from. Hell, no one would care. The Soldier looked to the ground and thought for a moment, finger tracing the trigger guard. The woman hadn’t moved, but the man was pacing back and forth.
Suddenly, a jolt of energy came to the Soldier. He put his finger on the trigger, aimed at the woman, and fired. He watched her look around for a moment, before she lunged forward and collapsed a second later, when the bullet finally hit. The Soldier grinned. The man in the distance turned to face his wife and swiftly running towards her. The Soldier grinned further as he turned the rifle towards the man and shot. It felt good. The release. The adrenaline. The power he’s wanted for so long.
The fact he could make that shot filled him with a looming lust for blood. The Soldier stared through the scope at the man crawling towards his motionless wife, leaving behind a trail of blood. The man soon turned onto his back, his body twitching and chest spasming. And then he just stopped. The deed was done.
The Soldier reached for a cigarette and stared at the bodies through his scope. As he gazed at them, he noticed that the woman was moving strangely. Soon, an arm reached out from beneath her. It was small and skinny. Feebly, a small child pulled himself out from under the woman. The Soldier had no idea the kid was there. His jaw dropped, and his cigarette fell to the ground. The Boy, whose shoulder was bleeding from the hit, dropped to his knees as got out from under her, before turning and pushing his mother to wake. His expression was almost indescernable from this distance, but it was clear he was dazed and confused. The Soldier stared for another minute. He saw the kid looking over at his dad, and begin to pull his mother towards the car. His finger tightened again, and he took the shot. The bullet hit the Boy’s head so hard he flew backwards snapping his neck, besides the giant hole left by the 7.62×51mm round passing cleanly through. The Soldier lifted his head up from the scope. And he smiled. Ear to ear.
Author's note: Special thanks to Arwa Hezzah and Laila Ghoneim who helped me with editing the article, and Ingie Gohar for the picture! This story is a work of fiction, but is inspired by the carnage that comes to civilians with every war, not just that between Turkey and Kurdish Syria.
Image Source: Ingie Gohar