The man was lying on some cardboard he had found below, in the alley, when he had scouted the location. Shifting slightly, but keeping the scope firmly planted near his right eye, he tried to clear his mind to the task. Prayers, tears, remorse, all those things that might have raised a small cloud of doubt had been erased from his mind the night before.
The target walked into view and without any further thought, he squeezed the trigger. The round flew through the air and impacted the temple of the eight year old boy with such force that it exited the left side of his head, went through the throat of the child next to him, before ending inside the right hip of the teacher that was watching them. Blood, brain, skull fragments peppered the surrounding children in a nightmare collage.
The shooter twisted away from the scene he created and threw down the rifle. Tears poured from his face as he whispered nameless prayers. Taking a deep breathe, he pulled a pistol from a shoulder holster underneath his jacket and with a final scream, stuck the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Across the country, a small man, well dressed, strode quickly to a non-descript office, in a non-descript building in yet another non-descript town near the east coast. He walked quickly to the elevator bank and withdrew a small key that he inserted in a panel next to the center elevator. The door opened and he, only he, got on. He pressed no buttons and simply stood until the elevator completed it’s descent to a level not found on any blue print anywhere. As soon as the door slid open he walked out and sped quickly through a long carpeted hallway. Decorative paintings lined the wall, illuminated by hidden lighting. He stopped at an ornate door at the end of the hallway and softly knocked.
“Come in”, beckoned the voice from within the chamber beyond.
The small man entered and said, “I have the preliminary reports from today’s shooting sir. Apparently everything went as according to plan. He shot the assigned target, killed another as a bonus and injured a teacher. All with the same round. He then turned the pistol we supplied him, on himself. He had the notes we told him to write inside a manila envelope taped to the small of his back and all supporting evidence was planted in his apartment.”
“His computer?”, asked the man, framed by soft lighting behind a Louis XIV desk.
“His computer was loaded with all appropriate software. There were viruses released that will indicate that he visited several conspiracy websites, and that he had memberships in them as well. We also planted letters, also appropriately backdated that will indicate that he had harbored certain feelings”, the small man smirked, “that led up to the events that occurred today.”
The man behind the desk was silent as he digested the latest information. The small man waited patiently, never once moving from his position in front of the desk. After some time the man behind the desk took a deep breathe and with a satisfied sigh looked up to the smaller man. “Start on the next subject, start feeding him all the regular nonsense. Feed him just enough of the same information, and give him”, he withdrew a bound packet of hundred dollar bills from a desk drawer, “The same amount as last time.”
The small man picked up the money, and walked out of the room, not saying another word. As the door shut quietly behind him, the man sitting behind the desk smiled. The neon indigo glow from his eyes lit up the surface of his desk. It cast a glow over the lower half of his face as he smiled and whispered to himself, “It’s only just begun”.

A well decriptive and passionate storey! Quite impressive, one that I can imagine seeing a novel in the works. Good work! Star and flag and hope you enjoy the rest of the contest.

I like it but I want MORE.

I am kind of confussed, was the first shooter an indigo? Were the suits indigos, planting ideas in the shooters head and having him kill childeren them himself? Were the kids indigos? That said I really want to read more. Star and Flag, good luck with the professional writing.

Originally posted by born-indigo
I like it but I want MORE.

I am kind of confussed, was the first shooter an indigo? Were the suits indigos, planting ideas in the shooters head and having him kill childeren them himself? Were the kids indigos? That said I really want to read more. Star and Flag, good luck with the professional writing.

The first shooter definitely wasn't. Kids, maybe. some of the suits were. I appreciate the reply. Thanks. I didn't start out with the idea of something more for this story, but I may play around.

Mike

Excellent contribution to the contest. A bit gory in the beginning but that's what grabbed my attention and wouldn't let it go. I too would love to know more about the intentions of the man behind the desk. One heck of a way to start a war.

I hope you do well in the contest,

wupy

A little confused as to who is what, but that doesn't matter at all. The vignette describes a particular event within a much wider 'project', no doubt repeated a hundred times daily in every country. The reader is left to imagine what really is going on, especially when, at the end, a master puppeteer turns out o be an Indigo himself. Lots of food for speculation.