Creative Writing: The Sniper

His opposer stands triumphantly as he thought to have succeeded in his mission. “How ill mannered is he?” the sniper murmured to himself with a devious smile. Standing tall in all black; blazer, bow tie, socks, Balmoral shoes, with the button up also to be corresponding. He appears seemingly endless like a black shadowed character made up to startle young children. The opposing sniper moves as if he is the actual Slender Man. As he stands as a vacuous man, I conjure my scheme to vanish him.
The sniper ejects his revolver to replenish his bullets. The task will be in someway strenuous, but unvarying. He knew that he on had one other qualifying weapon to make his foe extinct. The platinum, silver barreled revolver, with every piece shinning

like it had been made by the purest angel, seeming to wash her hands with the utmost purest water ever to be seen. It was his beauty, the revolver had been with him since the early ages of his career. Every other weapon was ill trusted in such a tedious job like one itself.
The sniper uses the same skill he was taught by the father of all snipers taught him: confidence. There is only one bullet in the barrel of the revolver. “Takes one to make one…die” Whispers the sniper. He aims the revolver with both of his hands intact to get great precision. He places his finger on the trigger and the gun recoils as he pulls it. The bullet seems to go in slow motion, rotating in the air shooting across to the next building rooftop. The bullet thuds in the middle of his opposer. He falls instantly on his back as the bullet enters and exits his crown. The shadowed out opposer lays motionless on the rooftop. Confidence sometimes kills.