The thing I hate most about snipers is the damned attitude. I mean, yeah, they’re really good a shooting. What marksmen! Great. But then they don’t even have the decency to come back down to our level, to really look us in the eye. It’s like they think they’re all better than us, perched up there in their damned towers. Well, come back down to our level, punk. Try shooting stuff from a pit. See how well that works for you. See what kind of marksmanship you’ve got then. Sure, stay all distant and disconnected, all high and mighty, looking at the world through your narrow little view. That’s not the way to form strong relationships, and I think you know that.
I mean, shoot me. That’s fine. But do it to my face. Don’t be a punk about it. What is it that you can’t you face? Is it the blood? The pained look in my eye as my innards spill out? No. No, everyone knows it’s the commitment. That’s right, the commitment. You know that once I’m lying there, perhaps dead, perhaps wounded, you have to deal with me. I mean really deal with me. That’s right, punk, you have to make that commitment to disposing of my lifeless or shattered body. To covering up what you did. To justifying yourself. You have to get your hands dirty, perhaps even be seen with me. Oh, God forbid you’re ever seen with me. I know how that would ruin your precious little rep.
You know, when I think about it, I just feel sorry for you, sniper punk. Just so sorry. Knowing that you’ll never know the joys of really making a connection, of letting others in. It’s just so sad. Maybe one day you’ll find that special someone; that special someone who’ll make you climb down those stairs.