Taking an Interest

Ian could hear the music swelling in his ears and the rain splashed down in a maddening torrent. Lightning split the sky over and over again. He centered his targeting reticule on the man’s face and pulled the trigger.

The camera zoomed dramatically and Ian watched his target’s head explode. His lifeless corpse rag-dolled from the edge of the parapet, then the credits began to roll. Ian frowned and dropped the video game controller onto the armrest of the easy chair. Well, that had been a bit anticlimactic. He sighed and watched the screen for a moment, hoping for some kind of wrap-up during the credits, but there didn’t seem to be anything forthcoming. Maybe after they finished rolling. He’d have a few minutes at least.

He stood up, glanced languidly around his room, and stretched. The room was relatively tidy, at least as much as could be expected from a teenager. With nothing else to do, Ian jogged upstairs to the kitchen for a drink. He reached into the refrigerator for a Pepsi, then thought better of it and poured a glass of orange juice instead. Ian’s father, who was busy preparing supper for the family, smiled just a little at that. Ian’s mother looked at him from the family room where she was sewing a button back on his sister’s favorite shirt.

“Are you playing those violent video games again?” she clucked disapprovingly.

“Yes mom, but I’ve done all my homework and I finished reading The Great Gatsby first.”

Her expression was still a bit dour, but she nodded. “Have you done the rest of your chores?”

“Yep,” Ian replied, taking a long drink from his juice glass. “I even set the vacuum out so that I can clean up after dinner while Alison’s washing dishes.”

“Isn’t it your turn to do dishes today?” his father asked from behind him.

“Normally, but she said she needed some extra money to get something for mom’s birthday, so I told her I’d give her ten dollars if she took all my dish nights for the next week.”

“That’s sweet of you.” His mother and father chimed almost simultaneously. They shared a loving smile with one another. Ian rolled his eyes, even though he smiled too.

“I’m going to go finish my game,” he announced.

“Don’t be too long,” his father commented as he pushed a casserole into the oven. “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

Ian nodded, but his mother added, “And take the trash out for your father before you go.” He sighed but did as he was asked, taking the kitchen trash bag out of the bin and heading for the kitchen door that led out to the trashcans on the side of the house. Once outside, he tossed the neatly tied plastic sack into the container and closed the lid, pausing briefly to stretch again.

Peter could hear the music swelling in his ears but no rain splashed down in a maddening torrent. No lightning split the sky over and over again. He centered his targeting reticule on the boy’s face and pulled the trigger. Peter watched his target’s head explode. His lifeless corpse collapsed beside the trashcans. Peter frowned and set his father’s rifle on the roof beside him. Well, that had been a bit anticlimactic. He sighed and watched the scene for a moment, hoping for something else to happen.

He sat there for a long while, wondering if it had glitched. Finally he heard the wail of sirens and he smiled. He climbed down off the roof, weapon in hand, and headed for his nav point a few miles away. When he walked into his house, rifle slung over one shoulder, his parents didn’t even bother to look up from the television.

His father barked a vague inquiry over the sound of a hissing beer can. “Where you been?”

“Out shooting,” Peter replied. His father grunted and Peter waited for a long moment. The glare of the television set washed out his parent’s features, and finally Peter gave up and walked into his room to find out his next mission.