Tuesday, March 06, 2007
For the Grade 9 alternate version assignment, Siri Parmeshar Singh wrote his version of the short story, "The Sniper" by Liam O'Flaherty. We believe his version is more interesting than the original. See if you agree ...
The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey a canal that ran through the city. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war.
On a rooftop near O'Connell Bridge that ran over the Liffey, a Republican sniper lay and his sighter sat scoping through the dark streets of Dublin ravaged by war. The sniper’s face was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. His mentor was the one that searched a called the shots he took them he was the killer and his master was the commander no more, and by the matter of the fact his was beginning to become fed up with his stringency. They both had experienced death to a degree that it seemed a blunt felling of grief that came and left in just as long.
The sniper was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. His sighter had eaten that morning and looked at him with a look of slight disgust that disturbed the sniper intensely. He finished the sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short drought. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk.
Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match. But as the flame lit a gun cracked a bullet flashed and the sighter’s brains were displayed across the rear wall in a crimson mess. He inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. He did not shake or stir his heart beat did not speed and his hands stayed completely still. The sniper may have lost his sighter but again the feeling came and went plus due to the angle of the gory display on the staircase wall he knew exactly where his enemy was sitting. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.
Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He began to load his rifle and take aim but realized that his enemy was in too much cover to be reached he had to move.
He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapet. There was nothing to be seen--just the dim outline of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. He could now see his enemy’s right shoulder and there was something about the band on his arm that sent a shot of apprehension through him, but he disregarded it. Back to killing, he would fire upon his arm but he had to ensure that he was dead, back up was the last thing he was interested in at that point.
Just then an armored car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the gray monster. Unless of course he could hit the thin layer of metal that covered the fuel can, but how? The fuel can was located on the rear of the tank just above the right tire, he was facing the left side. He did spot a plate of scrap metal four to five inches thick behind the truck but if he didn’t get it just right they would learn of his location and it would all go to waste.
Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.
The turret opened. A man's head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. He was found now what had seemed like a risk never worth taking had become his only way out. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. But not on the man or the woman, at the scrap of metal. The bullet he fired hit and ricocheted directly into the edge of the fuel tank. Perfect. A shot only the best of the best could perform.
The explosion was an intense but contained burst of flames that shot out of every open window of the tank and sent it flying up. If it weren’t for the given situation the informer may have survived, unfortunately she was in the middle of a war. The men within the tank were surely no more than ash, but it seemed for last seconds of there lives that they had screamed so painfully that it had actually shook although only for a moment, this demented soldier’s calm state.
Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out, the battle had begun and he knew that only one of the two of these men would walk away. The sniper thought the noise would wake the dead. He began to reload his rifle when a bullet whizzed right past his head, he felt the brick shatter and peg the back of his head. He dropped and rolled finding any cover possible. He finished reloading his rifle, he had some real competition.
He found a small pile of bricks by the staircase that he could use for temporary cover. Fortunately his opponent had become quite boasted from all of the close calls causing the sniper to flee from fire and had not bothered to call for back up.
Then he lay still against the bricks, and, closing his eyes, he made an effort to think, to calculate, to center and to kill. The enemy on the opposite roof covered his escape. He must kill that enemy and pure skill was not enough, not here. Then that weird feeling of unease form the armband, why was it familiar. Then he thought of a plan.
Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the center of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof.
Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.
The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with discomfort. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath through his nostrils and then just before he fired he pulled back shooting far off realizing what the band signified it was his battalions band before he left the army. A terrible feeling formed within his gut. He had by mistake attacked an ally, and he was now aware of his presence un-aware of there alliance and he didn’t have a gun.
Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of sudden fear. His enemy had heard the shot and was pointing his rifle right at him. Everything seemed to slow down a second went by and his teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war, cursing himself, cursing everybody. Another few seconds it seemed although he knew that not even a second had passed. Then he heard a loud crack, a flash and a bullet was spinning at him. Again a few seconds went by and he remembered his brother and his father and all the time he spent with them. Another second and he felt an intense heat within his head, a blinding white light and then nothing just pure, black nothing.
The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey a canal that ran through the city. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war.
On a rooftop near O'Connell Bridge that ran over the Liffey, a Republican sniper lay and his sighter sat scoping through the dark streets of Dublin ravaged by war. The sniper’s face was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. His mentor was the one that searched a called the shots he took them he was the killer and his master was the commander no more, and by the matter of the fact his was beginning to become fed up with his stringency. They both had experienced death to a degree that it seemed a blunt felling of grief that came and left in just as long.
The sniper was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. His sighter had eaten that morning and looked at him with a look of slight disgust that disturbed the sniper intensely. He finished the sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short drought. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk.
Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match. But as the flame lit a gun cracked a bullet flashed and the sighter’s brains were displayed across the rear wall in a crimson mess. He inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. He did not shake or stir his heart beat did not speed and his hands stayed completely still. The sniper may have lost his sighter but again the feeling came and went plus due to the angle of the gory display on the staircase wall he knew exactly where his enemy was sitting. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.
Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He began to load his rifle and take aim but realized that his enemy was in too much cover to be reached he had to move.
He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapet. There was nothing to be seen--just the dim outline of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. He could now see his enemy’s right shoulder and there was something about the band on his arm that sent a shot of apprehension through him, but he disregarded it. Back to killing, he would fire upon his arm but he had to ensure that he was dead, back up was the last thing he was interested in at that point.
Just then an armored car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the gray monster. Unless of course he could hit the thin layer of metal that covered the fuel can, but how? The fuel can was located on the rear of the tank just above the right tire, he was facing the left side. He did spot a plate of scrap metal four to five inches thick behind the truck but if he didn’t get it just right they would learn of his location and it would all go to waste.
Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.
The turret opened. A man's head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. He was found now what had seemed like a risk never worth taking had become his only way out. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. But not on the man or the woman, at the scrap of metal. The bullet he fired hit and ricocheted directly into the edge of the fuel tank. Perfect. A shot only the best of the best could perform.
The explosion was an intense but contained burst of flames that shot out of every open window of the tank and sent it flying up. If it weren’t for the given situation the informer may have survived, unfortunately she was in the middle of a war. The men within the tank were surely no more than ash, but it seemed for last seconds of there lives that they had screamed so painfully that it had actually shook although only for a moment, this demented soldier’s calm state.
Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out, the battle had begun and he knew that only one of the two of these men would walk away. The sniper thought the noise would wake the dead. He began to reload his rifle when a bullet whizzed right past his head, he felt the brick shatter and peg the back of his head. He dropped and rolled finding any cover possible. He finished reloading his rifle, he had some real competition.
He found a small pile of bricks by the staircase that he could use for temporary cover. Fortunately his opponent had become quite boasted from all of the close calls causing the sniper to flee from fire and had not bothered to call for back up.
Then he lay still against the bricks, and, closing his eyes, he made an effort to think, to calculate, to center and to kill. The enemy on the opposite roof covered his escape. He must kill that enemy and pure skill was not enough, not here. Then that weird feeling of unease form the armband, why was it familiar. Then he thought of a plan.
Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the center of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof.
Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.
The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with discomfort. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath through his nostrils and then just before he fired he pulled back shooting far off realizing what the band signified it was his battalions band before he left the army. A terrible feeling formed within his gut. He had by mistake attacked an ally, and he was now aware of his presence un-aware of there alliance and he didn’t have a gun.
Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of sudden fear. His enemy had heard the shot and was pointing his rifle right at him. Everything seemed to slow down a second went by and his teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war, cursing himself, cursing everybody. Another few seconds it seemed although he knew that not even a second had passed. Then he heard a loud crack, a flash and a bullet was spinning at him. Again a few seconds went by and he remembered his brother and his father and all the time he spent with them. Another second and he felt an intense heat within his head, a blinding white light and then nothing just pure, black nothing.
# posted by MPA Student Work @ 10:27 PM 
