Friday, February 7, 2014


Panathenaic Stadium, Olympic Opening Day 1896, Public Domain Image

Voroshenko was tired, hungry and very cold but within him burned an unquenchable fire sustaining both his mind and body.

Security for the ceremonies had been more aggressive than he imagined it would be and he’d feared his clandestine vantage point would be discovered. He was irrevocably committed to his course of action and so could only huddle deeper in the snow and scrub brush and wait.

He had been on the verge of collapse when activity in the area below increased in intensity. Through his scope he watched as the stands were steadily populated and all was made ready for the grand competition.

When he sensed the time had come, he sighted in on his first target and fired. He expended a total of ten rounds before he was himself shot and killed. He died with a smile, having vindicated himself as to whether he should have been dropped from his nation’s biathlon team for his unreliable weapons-handling skills.

This story was written for the weekly Flash! Friday Fiction flash photo and word prompt: envy

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