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   It was dark, but that wasn't what bothered him. It was the silence that bothered him. The air was silent, save for the expected sounds, the wind whistling, and the brushing sound of tumbleweed rolling on the ground. He tensed his arms and felt the jute digging into him, burning his skin. The cigarette hung limply in his mouth. Straightening the filter with his tongue, he took a long drag and let the smoke fill his lungs. He had never smoked before enlisting, but everyone has their vices. He exhaled hard, letting the smoldering butt fall, the red-orange ashes dancing as the tip struck the ground.
       A foreign hand fell on his shoulder. He nodded. Yes, he was ready. The hand's grip tightened, and let go. He heard footsteps crunching on the dry earth, and then the clicking of magazines being loaded into rifles. Then the silence again.
      Ready.
      He straightened himself up against the fence.
      Aim.
      He craned his blinded eyes toward the sky.
      Fire.
      Silence.