“I’ll fix them,” he thought,
fixing them in the scope’s crosshairs.
Mere seconds later, the lesson
ended. No one asked questions.
He was, he told himself,
finally and fully understood.
He had spoken; if not eloquently,
at least indisputably, unequivocally.
His audience was hushed, breathless.
Sirens in the distance sang him home.
He prepared to eat his own words.
—————[|||]—————
dVerse Poets
Open Link Night
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Scrambled, Not Fried 
This is a flash-fiction of a poem which packs a lot of punch in its few lines!
Those sirens–that doesn’t sound good!
Commitment and satisfaction at a very personal level. Wanting to be heard can be a powerful driving force. I’m sure he will bask in memories of that moment until his end.
That was chilling!
It’s all between the lines. (K)
This reminds me of the Harry Chapin song, Sniper.
And now I’m into a Harry Chapin session on Spotify. I miss that man.
Ron,
Truly operatic. Who fixed whom? In a tragedy, it’s sometimes hard for the protagonist to tell. But the chorus knows.
pax,
dora
And to your dark words well written Ron – peace!