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PostPosted: Mon Nov 21, 2016 1:18 pm
 


The trip to Dallas was a horrible experience. I'd deliberately arrived a full week before just to give myself ample time to recover from the rigors of the journey. The first day after I arrived I mostly slept in to get past the nausea.

It got easier after that.

As instructed, I laid low and allowed myself just one decent dinner at El Chico. As one of the few white patrons at the restaurant I initially stood out from the crowd but as soon as the staff saw me enjoying their fare and even ordering guacamole for my enchiladas they relaxed and must have accepted me as coming from an old Texican family.

Getting used to the difference in prices wasn't as easy as I'd expected. The numbers on the prices were lower of course but the relative cost of food was higher than other things. I had to be cautious about this as I did not want to be noticed.

It was also surprising that getting used to the sound of silver coins in my pocket was so signficant. The coins would jingle with a distinctive ring as opposed to the dull tinkle of the coinage I was accustomed to. I soon found myself leaving large tips of coins just to avoid the distraction.

By the time Friday rolled around I was feeling normal and made my way to my chosen location. I had an excellent vantage point and while there was a light rain first thing in the morning I knew for a fact it would be sunny and clear by 12:30.

I unpacked my rifle from the case and assembled it. I double checked the fittings as usual, slipped the bolt into place, loaded it, and then attached the scope. I checked the sight and made sure my adjustments were correct and they were. The scope hadn't been damaged or jostled during the trip to Dallas so the settings I'd made before I left were still there and still accurate.

The distance was 246.8 meters. It was an easy shot.

Waiting was part of what I did so I meditated and rehearsed the shot in my mind. Visualizing the shot hitting the target was key to creating the reality of the shot hitting the target and it had long been part of my shooting discipline.

The sounds of motorcycles moving slowly came to my ears along with the occaisional whirr of a siren. I could hear the motorcycles change their tone as they turned the first corner.

Looking through the scope I saw him for the first time. Neatly combed hair. A crisp white shirt. He looked smaller than I'd expected. He moved and I couldn't see him but I knew he'd be back.

The motorcade made the second turn onto Elm Street and then I saw him again. He was right where I knew he'd be. I placed the crosshairs on his collar and then breathed before applying exactly two hundred fifty milligrams of pressure on the trigger.

The son-of-a-bitch breathed his last.

The first shot hit the bastard in the neck and it severed his spinal cord as it exited. This was by design to prevent a sympathetic response from causing any unforseen complications.

I quickly worked the bolt and got off the second shot. It hit him in the left cheek and exited the back of his head. In the sunlight he looked almost angelic as his face was framed with the mist that had been his brain.

The sound of the motorcade abruptly accelerating was unmistakable. Sirens were going off everywhere. I could see people running. Some ran away from Dealey Plaza, some ran towards it.

The rifle was broken down and packed away in the briefcase in seconds. I calmly put on my hat and walked away. I already knew that in the mayhem no one would notice me. As an afterthought I reached into my pocket and hit the recall button knowing that nothing would happen yet still curious enough to try it.

Nothing happened. Overall it was a good sign.

The walk back to the hotel was more interesting than the walk from the hotel. Police cars and even the occaisonal military vehicle tore through the streets at high speed. I heard a plane circling overhead but the absence of any helicopters was a little disconcerting because I'd unconsciously expected it.

At the hotel people were gathered around radios and television sets listening to the news of what had happened.

I caught snippets of the news as I made for the elevator.

"...identified as Lee Harvey Oswald..."

"...sniper..."

"...Parkland Hospital..."

When I was back in my room I turned on the television set and set it to the CBS station. The tubes took a little time warming up and then the familiar image of Walter Cronkite came on the screen.

Image

I caught him midsentence.

"...arrived at Parkland Hospital and I am told that he is dead."

Cronkite bowed at his desk, just as I'd seen him do so many times before. His head came up and he took his glasses off and then looked into the camera. He uttered what would become a very memorable line:

"But by the grace of a munificent God, President Kennedy is unharmed."

* * *

If only it were so. :|


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