In the clear

In the clear

I've been tailing this guy for weeks and I still haven't got a clear shot. It's always drawn curtains, or crowds, or reflective windows. It's taking forever. Through this scope I've seen into his entire life. I've seen him eat, I've seen him sleep, I even know what brand of toilet paper he uses and why.

"It's bio-degradable." He'd say in a slightly smug voice to his slightly interested friends. His friends. I've toyed with the idea of targeting one of them, and I know why: because I'm lazy. I now I'm going to just use them as an excuse for not getting him. They're not even worth what he's worth; he's the mission, not them. I don't get paid if I don't get him. So I can't keep messing around; I've got to stay focused and achieve my goal.

His life is so perfect in its containment. Beautiful in its self absorption. He thinks he controls everything, and he does. He is truly a master of his own domain. It'll be a shame when all this crashes around him, he will become human, nothing more than an object for the rest of the world to see. Taken from his mighty throne of pure perfection and elegance and cast down, into nothing more than a newspaper article.

I know he's coming. I can see him now. I couldn't have got him in the train station, too many people. It's got to be a perfectly clear shot. My perfection will destroy his perfection. As he walks out, I attach the scope and sink low into my car's seat, praying not to be seen. He moves in an enormous arc around the car park, finally making a beeline away from me but still in view of my back window. He slinks into an alleyway. Hoping the shadows will hide him while he draws his cigarette. I see a flash of orange when he raises the sliver lighter to the unlit piece of tobacco in his mouth. He lights the cigarette, pockets the lighter and takes a long deep breath. Time slows as his hand takes the cigarette away. I see him exhale, smoke surrounds him. I'm in the clear… time to make the perfect shot…

I squeeze.

He freezes. Perfectly captured forever, in veil of smoke, on the view screen of my nine mega pixel, anti red eye, camera. I drive away. This time, I'm the one with the smugness. Brad Pitt won't know what hit him.