Finger on the Receiver

Stillness broke. My fingers tightened on the rifle receiver, feeling the cool ridge of the metal housing beneath my grip. I shifted weight onto one knee, settling deep into the tall grass beside the boulder. Down range, the muzzle flash cracked. I adjusted the brim of my conical hat with a brief tap, leveled the sights through the blades of brush, and held my breath. Steady. Present.