Diary of a Sniper



I’m finding that killing people for a living can get to you after a while.


I’ve been in this business for over 19 years. In all that time, I’ve never thought about keeping a diary before. Perhaps I’m just getting older but I’ve recently become aware of several issues in my life. I’ve got no one to talk to. The only place for my secrets is in a diary that no one will ever read. It also helps with the nightmares. It doesn’t get rid of them completely, but being able to talk about it does help.


Due to the nature of my work I’ve gone by many names over the years. At present, I’m ‘Danny’. On my last string of contracts, I was ‘Carlos’. He was a famous sniper in Iraq, and one that I’ve always considered a mentor. Last names aren’t safe in my industry either, so I avoid using mine.


I recently received a series of odd contracts. Normally, it’s one client that contracts me for one target. The odd thing in this situation is I had a single client – let’s call him, John, – who set up two targets. Both were easy kills. Easy kills usually mean something deeper is going on the client doesn’t want me finding out about.


The weird part is John hired me a week later, with three more targets. Very few client’s hire me for more than one or two jobs. Especially such short time periods from each other. The first target is Branson. He was a middle-aged, homeless man in DC. The second, Charles, was a wealthy banker in Charleston. Finally, Romero was ex-mafia turned FBI informant. I don’t normally accept federal targets of any kind, but the pay was good.


I’m a little hesitant about taking on more contracts from John. I’ve felt something strange about him since these most recent contracts but can I afford to turn down work?


Oh, to hell with it, we’ll just see how everything plays out.




John’s been keeping me busy. I’ve run eight contracts in total. Most of them were standard kills, except two.


The first was Rodrigues, an ex-gang member turning state evidence. I took my shot right as he moved, so I only grazed him in the ribcage, instead of getting him through the heart like I intended. Wasn’t a big deal. My second shot entered his head, above the right eye. I hardly ever miss.


The second was Davidson, a governor, who had apparently become corrupt. He weighed over 300 pounds, and had a lot of bodyguards. I put one straight through his heart. Then I thinned out his bodyguards. Figured that would get me a bonus if I caused as much damage as possible.


It’s odd that so many contracts would come from the same client. Every kill has been in a different state. But what the hell, he covers the traveling expenses.




That bastard betrayed me.


I had a feeling this was going to happen. John set me up, it was clear he had been planning this all along. He had been my only client for weeks now, it had to be him.


When we started the flight descent I could see local law enforcement all over the airport. They were inspecting each plane as they landed. Luckily, we landed at the same time as two others, so they were distracted. I paid off the flight attendant and made it off the flight just in time. I got to a safe vantage point. From there I saw that they were just now getting to the plane I had been on.


I feel trapped. I can’t take a commercial flight since they will be monitoring incoming and outgoing flights at this point. They no doubt have all my information, including my address, so going home is risky.  First I have to worry about getting back to America before I can do anything.


He’ll die for this. I know his real name, and where he lives in California. I’m tracing back the name on the account he was using to pay me. It’s in the paperwork in my apartment, in a secret room. It should be safe there for a while, even if the police raid it.


I’ll hide out a few days, plan my moves, and take it from there.




I’ve been paranoid all day and my head is throbbing. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten stressed out enough to get headaches. It’s surprising, from someone who kills for a living. At least on a positive note, I’ve secured a flight back to America. Flight leaves tomorrow, thanks to one of my old buddies.


When I get back, I’ll make sure John regrets screwing me over.




I’m stateside, and got myself setup in a hotel near my apartment. Police are nowhere to be seen but I know they must be staking out the place. They’re waiting for me to be stupid and walk through the front door. I’ve lived in this apartment a long time. A few years ago, I spent a good bit of money to build a typical ‘secret room behind the bookshelf’ into my apartment. With that, I also got an underground exit constructed that connected to the sewers. Luckily, I’m on the ground floor.


Tomorrow, I’ll get in, and get what I need.




I barely made it back to the hotel. As soon as I finished burning my contracts and grabbing my gear, I heard the police kick open my front door. I got out through the underground entrance.


Tomorrow, I’ll head to California and dig around to see if I can find John.




First day in California, I need a few days to get everything ready. Then I’ll be heading to finish this.




Everything’s in place. I hired a forger to create some fake IDs. I setup evidence so the police will think all those hits I did were done by someone who doesn’t exist. The last thing I need to do is kill John and make it look like this phantom killer murdered him.


If everything goes to plan, the police will look in another direction.




I’ll be heading out tonight. After he’s dead, I’ll plant the fake evidence and let the entire situation take care of itself. The police will find it, and I’ll have a clear name again.


To add insult to injury, I’m going to steal his debit card, and funnel everything out of his account before reporting the murder.


I’ll end this, and John, tonight. One way or another.




This was the closest I had ever come to dying. When I first got there, I spent the better part of an hour waiting from a treetop perch to get a clear shot. I didn’t see him anywhere. I got tired of waiting. I was getting impatient, and stupid. I went inside through a side window and before I even saw him, he shot me in the side and got me in the shoulder when I tried to turn the corner.


I made it down the hallway and managed to get to the bathroom. With limited options, I took cover in the tub. He fired through the door a few times. I felt the shards of ceramic tile that fell in splinters from the bullets. They barely missed my head. I listened, honing in on his location. I heard footsteps coming closer. Peering over the side of the tub I saw his shadow growing larger at the bottom of the door frame. I waited till his shadow took up the length of the crack and fired. I held my breath. The door reverberated from his body crumbling over. His shoulders slumped forward shoving his head into the closed-door production a loud thud from the other side. I waited a few minutes and didn’t hear any movement. When I came out he was lying in a pool of blood. My bullet had hit him in the stomach. Effective, considering I wanted him to suffer. He fell, hitting his head on the way down. He had been knocked unconscious but was still alive.


I tied John up to a chair and slapped him awake. It took a bit of unconventional convincing but I was able to find out everything I wanted to know. He is FBI turned terrorist. He obtained my information through a contact with one of my previous clients, in regards to a plea agreement. I had become known among certain business circles as a special projects manager. It sounded more legal than that of sniper-for-hire. The only way to obtain my services with certain clients was thru a direct referral.


When John left the FBI he stole a list of high profile targets. People who were under the FBI protection list. He auctioned their deaths off to the highest bidder. He hired me to do the work, then when he began feeling the tinges of paranoia setting in, he would leave anonymous tips to the authorities, allowing them to remain out of public scrutiny. Truth was, the authorities were close to indicting him for witness tampering having discovered his breach of security. His plan to expose me as the killer had been evident from the beginning. He thought if he blamed me, he could walk away without the police giving him a second thought.


After I found out what I needed to know, I killed him. I can’t say, I didn’t relish watching him take his last breath. After all, it was a slow death. It took several hours to clean any trace of ever having been there. I staged the entire thing. When I was through, I was confident the police would think it was done entirely by the same phantom killer that murdered all the targets.


After walking away that day I decided it was time to retire and settle down. This life has taken a lot out of me, and it’ll be good not to have to feel the paranoia this life creates. I can hang up my rifle and never kill another person ever again.




I finally opened the secret room to relive memories of what some would consider as my glory days. My rifle hasn’t seen the light of day for almost three years. I found this old diary in my things as I pack. It was time for a fresh start and I was getting ready to move. I blew off the dust from the cover of the well-worn diary, thumbing through its silky pages, I figured I’d throw in one last entry.  It’s been awhile since my fiasco with John, and my life’s been good since. I’ve had a few old clients try to contact me to handle a few odd jobs here and there at first, but the work was no longer a challenge. Soon after the referrals stopped altogether. The ones I turned down weren’t upset. I’ve always had loyal clients.


I’ve got a girlfriend now, might even be proposing. It’s only right I tell her the truth, but then again maybe I’ll take this secret to my grave. Regardless, I’ve decided to destroy this diary. This last entry was just for nostalgia. I don’t want any chance of anything implicating me in the life I use to live.


I’m done, and I’m glad to be. Here’s to a new life.

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