THE SOUND BEFORE THE SHOT

The first shot of the day always felt different.

Not louder—just heavier.

Christian lowered his gun and let out a quiet breath as he watched the target move slightly. The smell of gunpowder was in the air, and it was familiar and somewhat relaxing. He looked at his group.

Not too awful.

Not where he intended it to be either.

"You're still in a hurry."

Christian shut his eyes for a moment.

Of course.

He didn't even have to turn around. "Good morning to you too, Lester."

Lester strolled up next to him with his hands in his pockets, as if he owned the place. "That's all I'm saying." If you keep doing that, you'll fall apart when things get tough.

Christian reloaded slowly. "I didn't ask."

"Yes, but you need to hear it."

Christian laughed a little. Not funny—just exhausted. "You always have something to say."

Lester answered, "Because no one else will." "People only tell you what you want to hear."

That one hit a little too close to home.

At last, Christian looked at him. "And what do you think I want to hear?"

Lester answered, "That you're ready." "That you're good enough to go to nationals."

Christian kept looking at him. "I am."

Lester shook his head and smiled like it was clear. "You think you are."

There it was again.

Not too loud. Not mean.

Just... not interested.

Christian has heard it before. From different persons and places, yet in the end, it always sounded the same.

You haven't gotten there yet.
You are doing too much.
Be honest.

At first, he would explain himself. Try to get them to see how serious he was.

He didn't care anymore.

"Why does it bother you?" "Christian inquired.

Lester frowned. "What?"

"That I'm going for it."

Lester answered hastily, "It doesn't bother me." "I'm just being honest."

Christian bowed his head slowly. "Yes." "Real."

The silence between them lasted for a moment as they stood there.

A shot rang out in the distance.

Christian got back into place.

Lester said, "Just don't say I didn't warn you." "Being there is different. People move quicker. More clean. "Not a chance for mistakes."

Christian changed how he was holding it. "I know."

"No, you don't."

Christian stopped.

For a moment, he wanted to argue with something inside him. To show it. To write down all the hours, all the work, and all the progress that no one else saw.

But what was the point?

Lester had already made up his mind about who he was.

"Okay," Christian responded in a low voice. "Then watch."

He took a breath.

The world got smaller—just his stance, his hands, and the weight of the gun.

The timer made a sound.

Draw. Shoot.

The first shot broke cleanly.

Then one more. Change. Two more. Reload.

Everything fell into place, not perfectly, but in a controlled way. Concentrated. On purpose.

No sound. No voices.

Only him.

He held still for a second after he was done before putting the gun down.

He didn't hurry to look at the target.

He didn't have to.

Lester walked over first and squinted a little. "Better," he said.

Christian shrugged. "I know."

"But still not enough," Lester said, almost without thinking. As if he had to say it.

Christian grinned a little bit.

Not because Lester was correct.

But this time it didn't matter.

"You keep making that choice," Christian remarked.

Lester gave him a look. "Deciding what?"

"What's enough?"

Lester laughed. "That's not how it works."

"It's for me."

Christian began to pick up his magazines, calm and steady. "You think I'm trying to meet a standard you set. I'm not.

"So what? You think you're ready?"

Christian answered, "No." "I just keep coming back until I am."

Lester shook his head. "And what if you're not?"

Christian paused for a time.

He thought of the mornings. Training by yourself. The days he didn't want to. People scoffed, doubted, and acted like he was just another person with a hobby.

He thought about how many times he almost did listen.

He finally responded, "If I'm not, then I'll get there."

Lester didn't answer straight away.

And that quiet felt odd.

Not as sure.

Christian got back into his place.

"Last run," he said.

This time, Lester didn't say anything.

The timer went off.

Christian moved—now cleaner and sharper. Not perfect, but getting there. Always getting closer.

And in between the first and last shots, he figured something out.

He wasn't trying to prove Lester incorrect anymore.

It never was.

Christian lowered his gun and took a long breath when the last shot rang out.

This time, it didn't feel heavy.

It felt good