A Tale of Blood and Bullets.

         The wind gently whipped and tussled Joseph Rothguard's hair as he peered through the cylindrical metal and glass case that i called my body. Looking down at his target below. The somber tones of the funeral procession pierced the air even up here on this twelfth story balcony nearly a mile away. Through my eternally magnified vision I saw only the backs of the attendees' heads and the priest in front of them all leading the grim spectacle from a raised podium. I heard him gasp lightly, half in relief and half in terror, as his intended victim slowly trudged from his black limousine. The man was wearing a black trenchcoat tied tightly around his waist so as to shield him from the biting cold of that November morning. An expensive tailor-made suit was hidden underneath, visibly expensive even at a distance as i was.
         I had not been in view of my keeper when this man had wronged him so horrendously, but i knew enoough of my master to know the man who i now gazed upon deserved his imminent fate. The heavy breathing and audible heart beat in the room with me further cemented this idea. He was irrevocably deserving of the bullet he was promised. My gunman tensed up and took aim as the man sat down on the thick oak pew. He knew that meant only one thing, i'm sure of it. A head shot, this must be a perfectly placed gift to be recieved only in mind.
         His breathing slowed to a dead stop as he sat there calculating wind speed and direction into his fatal equation. His finger eased to the trigger below where i was perched. He hesitated for only a moment, and proved his resolve would not be shaken. A whisper came from his lips, too quiet for even I to hear. A loud thunderous crack decimated the melancholy silence that had so far permeated through the entirety of the event. The acrid burning scent of muzzle release filled the air. The man slumped over dead. A lifeless puppet whose soul had been easily subdued by cutting the strings. My master smiled a simple smirk of accomplishment and walked over to the table in the center of our room. He took a drink of gin he had been saving for such an occasion and looked thoughtful for a moment. His deed was done, his life's work complete. I can not escape this gun i am forever tied to. Sometimes, i wonder if he's any different in the matter.