Winter Olympics Daily Challenge 2: Bang Bang
Feb 11, 2014 18:33:07 GMT
Post by peanutsandjello on Feb 11, 2014 18:33:07 GMT
Last place. The other biathletes are far ahead of him by now, but he isn't worried. This isn't about them. He presses forwards relentlessly, never pausing to think, never stopping to rest, never even considering his current position. This isn't about winning, or losing, or thinking. This is about feeling the rifle strapped to his back. This is about feeling the wind bite at his cheeks, about feeling himself propel forwards by his own strength.
He relies too much on his partner, and he knows it. But this, this is different. No one makes the shot for you. No one pushes you forwards but yourself. Even if he's slow, even if he misses a target, he still knows that he's doing this. Not anyone else. This is him. This is all him.
Finally, he spots the first shooting area. Several of his fellows are already there, finishing their standing shots. Louis ignores them, heading straight for his lane and swinging the rifle around to his front. This is the easy part.
Crack. One white circle flips to black.
Crack. A second circle changes color.
Crack. Crack. Crack. He doesn't even bother to pause in between shots this time, certain he'll hit each time. He's not confident for nothing; he's been practicing for months, years even. This is what he's good at.
He pushes himself upright, readjusting his stance. Five more shots, and then he moves on. He doesn't miss a single target. He never does. The world knows him as the 'perfect shot' Louis Kelborn, and Haze really can't be bothered to correct them. After all, this is the only thing he can do without his human. Although he's sacrificed all his speed for this form, it doesn't really matter when your opponents can't help but miss their targets. Of course, it also helps when you aren't human.
Haze grins as he picks up speed, pushing past normal human limits. 'Superhuman,' he's called. It's funny how right they are.
He speeds past one, then another, then a third, and finally he's in first, and he's passing the finish line. Once again, "Louis Kelborn" pulls off an impressive win. Haze walks smoothly away with his gold medal, ignoring everyone in his path.
He did it. He did it.
He relies too much on his partner, and he knows it. But this, this is different. No one makes the shot for you. No one pushes you forwards but yourself. Even if he's slow, even if he misses a target, he still knows that he's doing this. Not anyone else. This is him. This is all him.
Finally, he spots the first shooting area. Several of his fellows are already there, finishing their standing shots. Louis ignores them, heading straight for his lane and swinging the rifle around to his front. This is the easy part.
Crack. One white circle flips to black.
Crack. A second circle changes color.
Crack. Crack. Crack. He doesn't even bother to pause in between shots this time, certain he'll hit each time. He's not confident for nothing; he's been practicing for months, years even. This is what he's good at.
He pushes himself upright, readjusting his stance. Five more shots, and then he moves on. He doesn't miss a single target. He never does. The world knows him as the 'perfect shot' Louis Kelborn, and Haze really can't be bothered to correct them. After all, this is the only thing he can do without his human. Although he's sacrificed all his speed for this form, it doesn't really matter when your opponents can't help but miss their targets. Of course, it also helps when you aren't human.
Haze grins as he picks up speed, pushing past normal human limits. 'Superhuman,' he's called. It's funny how right they are.
He speeds past one, then another, then a third, and finally he's in first, and he's passing the finish line. Once again, "Louis Kelborn" pulls off an impressive win. Haze walks smoothly away with his gold medal, ignoring everyone in his path.
He did it. He did it.