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A worn hand brushes the specks of sand away from the wooden stock, and he checks the rifle over again. It takes him one, two, three times to inspect it before he's finally satisfied with the cleaning job he's done. Sure, there's sand everywhere in the Badlands, but it still manages to piss him off when sand gets on his rifle. After all, the gun is the only company he's got for tonight. Might as well keep it looking nice.
He sits in his usual perch, with the rifle propped up against the wall behind him. The sky isn't dark yet, but the twinkling of the stars is visible against the gradient of blue and violet. Off in the distance, he can hear his team celebrating the day's victories. He chuckles to himself. "Bloody hell, they're loud..." As if on cue, the cheering fades. He sighs, and gazes at the sky again.
It's not that he isolates himself from the team to be unfriendly; sometimes, he just needs peace and quiet. Because it's moments like these, when the silence envelopes him, that he truly feels alive. When there's not a soul nearby, and he's blissfully alone in the world. Everyone else ceases to exist, and it's just him.
A sudden flash of light rips open the New Mexico sky. He freezes, forcing himself not to blink or breathe. It trails across the stars, and in less than a second, it's gone forever.
He lets out a sharp exhale. Admittedly, he's a bit embarrassed with himself, since shooting stars aren't exactly a rarity for him. But then, an unbidden thought creeps into his head. People make wishes on shootin' stars, don't they? It's a ridiculous notion, but he decides, why the hell not. It wouldn't hurt to try.
***
The next night, after a long and difficult day, he calls his parents. Phone calls home are few and far in between, as the team has to move around bases often. Of course, he sends postcards, but his parents usually get them late. The same holds true for the opposite; by the time they mail him back, he's usually already at another base. Living far away from the more densely-populated areas of Australia does have its downsides.
He counts the seconds from when he dials the number. It takes exactly sixteen seconds for the call to pick up, and he's slightly surprised. His mum usually picks up the phone quicker than that. His dad, on the other hand, never picks up his phone calls and ignores him. He knows his dad still disapproves of his line of work. It could be a long time before his dad relents and even contacts him.
Patiently, he waits for his mum to say something, fully expecting to hear her gentle voice. But it's the gravelly tones of his dad's grumble that meet his ears instead.
"'Ello?" There's an unpleasant harshness in the old man's voice. "Who's this?"
Sniper stops in mid-breath. "D-dad?" he asks, hardly believing it. There's no bloody way...did the wish really...?
There's a short pause. He can hear the faint sounds of breathing on the other end, and the silence stretches over a few minutes. Then: "Oh, piss off." But the line doesn't go dead.
Maybe that foolish wish was worth it, after all.