Six Sentence Stories #22

My rifle had began to feel heavy, as I peered down my scope at my target. The man I was ordered to kill wanted to start a war. My commanders hopped his death would prevent the war before its starts. From the file they showed me the entire area was a powder keg, waiting to explode at the slightest spark. I would be a hero if I made this shot. Yet why did I feel like this could be the spark, that would ignite the powder keg of war?

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