A/N: This is a slightly modified version of an essay I've done for English class. It takes place in any given country, and I intentionally neglected to give physical details of any of the characters or the setting. This has no relation to any historical event, I was just told to write about a fictional 'civil war'.
It was noon. Noon in the middle of war to be specific. What war you ask? Well surely, you've heard about it? Our country has been in war ever since that law was passed. What law? "Oh, please sir, pick up a newspaper once in a while, and ignore this rebel propaganda! No such disagreeable law was passed, it's only the rebels complaining over nothing!" That's what we from the south area say, but not me. I was forced into this.
I heard a few gunshots ring out, and I cautiously peered from where I was. One of my comrades was killed. I didn't know him well, but was shocked none-the-less. Before trying to run away, I shivered as I thought up a plan. I could climb up the tower and find my way out of here and into safety, but that may accidentally lead me into a trap. Also, I had a lot of equipment in hand.
I also had the choice to run downstairs and hurry through the courtyard to the top of a different vantage point. Then again, that would put me in the light and make me easier to snipe.
I thought for a moment, and then went downstairs, but before I went into the courtyard, I let out a few gunshots to the opposite direction and ran as fast as my legs could carry me through the courtyard. If the rebels turned the other way, trying to figure out who was injured (in this case, no one was), they couldn't see me.
Finally, I reached the stability of an office building. I needed to find a better viewpoint. I thought for a second, and then looked around. "There's ought to be a water tower somewhere…"
My voice was gravelly from lack of use, but it was cut off by the sound of a very nearby gunshot. I ran in the corner where a dumpster sat, and where I couldn't be seen. I peered around the corner, and I saw a rebel. More importantly it was someone I knew. Even more importantly, it was one of my best friends. I had never seen a rebel that I had actually knew before. Yet again, that was a person bent on killing me, even if they haven't realized my identity yet. I breathed a shaky breath and heard other voices around my friend.
"There's someone or something over there. Finish it, and get back to the headquarters," said another voice that I did not recognize.
"Sure thing, and good luck," my friend replied. I heard the gun being loaded. I noticed that my gun was completely loaded. If I fired it, maybe I could scare him away, but that wasn't my most preferable option. I scaled the wall of the office building, away from my untimely death. I ran to where I was well hidden. I made sure not to enter the building in case it was a trap.
I looked around and finally spotted the water tower. I could easily climb it and get a great vantage point, but it was undoubtedly full of other snipers and traps. I looked at the office building again, then I heard another shot. I scaled the wall with the rope and hook that I kept on my belt. I tried to make as little noise as possible and cringed with the hook clang on the building's gutter. I scaled up it, but my weight was too much for it and broke it. I desperately grasped onto the metal, making even more noise. My heart rate rose, I became shaky, and felt a rush of more adrenaline in my veins (if that was even possible, for I was sure my bloodstream was no less than 75% adrenaline before then).
I climbed up, and when I reached the top of the building, I didn't even notice that I had scratched my leg. My trousers were torn, and my leg was covered in blood. I ignored it for now. I still wasn't safe. I hurried across the room, neglecting to be as quiet as possible, so when I was in a favorable viewpoint of my tired war torn friend, I was breathing raggedly.
I sat for a moment. He wasn't very confident, which was why he was hesitating so long. I was sure that if anyone else than me were in my place, my friend would have already had about three shots to the chest.
I felt bad for thinking with such dark humor, but that sort of humor was the only thing that kept me going along these days. I pulled out my gun, deciding whether I should kill him or not. If he remained living, he could just as easily kill one of my other friends that fought on my side… or more likely, he would trip over a rock and be shot in the gut before they could recognize him, and suffer in a pool of his own blood. I smacked myself for thinking so darkly again.
I didn't dare go for the dramatic Hollywood-like effect where I would start talking or I would get his attention before killing him. That was just plain irresponsible. I aimed my sniper, breathed in, and as I breathed out, I shot him dead.