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Tricolor and Tragedy
Sep 13, 2020 3 years agoThe skies of April 16 had been nothing different than any other day. Pastels shaded the air in correspondence to the now descending sun, and with each passing hour, the sun vanished into the horizon. From this, the sky was replaced with the gleaming shine of the stars and solitary moon. Later that afternoon, Steven's mother had promised he could play amongst friends once he finished his dinner. Padding along the street, the nine year old boy encountered his friends, and instantaneously decided mischief would replace his boredom. Noticing the presence of a nearby vehicle, the boys simultaneously decorated the scruffy car with stones and tricolor. The shattered glass and instilled dents seemingly amused the boys, as roars of laughter hurdled from within them. Not far from the now vandalized car, a scrawny man lay in the field where grass towered his clandestine appearance. He carried with him a dense and reliably configured weapon that could kill on his command. His index finger impulsively toyed with the trigger of the machine, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, as he directed every bit of his attention on his target. Instantly, the thoughts crowding his mind were channeled into immediate action, as the man's blood rhythmically pulsated from his heart, to every inch of his being. Without hesitation, the trigger's compression signaled a piercing cry that echoed among the silent streets of Dublin. The boy that was just seconds ago laughing and playing about was now laying still across the cold pavement with a bullet lodged in his brain.
