Writing prompt: 12/14/2020

 Hyperborean: taken from The Writing Prompt


"That's the last time I'll take a gig during this time of year," huffed Dominic. He was dressed head to toe in flannel and even that was covered in snowboard pants and ermine lined white coat. His hands were resting on the butt of a sniper rifle, doing his level best to keep it steady. He was quietly cursing his prior eagerness of taking a job in the depths of a Buffalo winter. 

Dominic initially scoffed at the idea, thinking it would be some picturesque fluff; nothing to be worried about. But the more he read about the location, checked the impending forecasts, his bravado shrank a bit. A shiver brought him back from his reminiscing. The snow was coming in flurries. A multitude of snowflakes hit him in the face, shocking him further. 

"Sitting in a football stadium and waiting on a target better be worth the bonus," he thought. Dominic's index finger tapped out an irregular rhythm on the trigger. "Need to move my fingers."

He tried to flex them to force the warmth of circulation to flow through him. Opening his mouth to curse his misfortune, he found he couldn't. His lips were firmly shut; every twinge threatened to rip skin. 

Everything was going wrong. Just when he was ready to call it a loss, his eyes caught movement on the blindingly white field. 

"Finally," he thought. 

There was a person 50 yards away, trudging through the field. That was his reason for being in tundra. Dominic had one shot. One shot to get him to a heated car and all the hot toddies he could stomach.

With his index finger still tapping, he let it rest on the trigger. After what felt like an eternity swishing his spit against his lips, they parted slightly. That small victory aside, he allowed himself a wide grin as he pulled the trigger. 


One loud shot rang out, followed by the intended target falling two feet forward. Blood pooled around the target's head, painting the snow in a gruesome hue.

"Never the fuck again."

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