Setting: A Britney Spears Concert (preferably in an enclosed arena)

The Events:

I find myself looking down on an arena that's quickly filling. The events that took place in order for me to be here were too perfect for it to not have been a sign that I needed to be here: two weeks ago I dialed a wrong number and got a radio station instead; I was caller 25 and had just won my way into Britney's concert at the local sports arena. That was the first sign. I muse to myself how Britney would have lived another day and maybe even given another concert had I not won those tickets. I also think of how much easier my job was made, I wouldn't have paid shit for actual tickets. Fortunately, this will be the last anyone will ever see of her.

The show is just getting started. There are thousands of crazy people here. How I pity them. They actually paid to come and have their ears ripped apart by the phony, soulless puppet. They are all having fun, or so it seems. Pretty soon, it will be I who will be having fun.

I let the show go about halfway through and then decide it is time. I move to the point where the closest entrance to the roof is. It is a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." The second sign came two days after the first. That was when I met Bill, the head of security at this arena, at a bar. He knew she was coming and knew he must not let her get away. He is one of the many more people here tonight who have just been dying for this moment. At the bar I heard him talking to his friends from work about the possibility of allowing a "minor security breach" to go unnoticed. They caught on to his plan fast and were trying to decide on how to do the deed when I stepped up and offered my services. They were willing to pay a good price but I said I'd rather do it for free. They were shocked but I told them there would be no greater satisfaction for me than to rid the world or this pest. All I asked for was a way to get out and a firing platform. Bill knew just the thing.

Well, that doesn't matter right now. What matters is that now I'm getting free access to the top part of the stadium. Here is where all the spotlights and electrical gadgets are. It is also here that I can have an unobstructed view of the whole stadium, and of the stage. I look around and find my spot. It's just like any other spot behind a support column. I settle down and put on surgical gloves and on top of those a pair of black leather gloves. I walk to the wall and find a big gray box labeled "High Voltage." I open it and look at the briefcase that lies inside. This is perfect.

I open the briefcase and carefully take out my rifle. Working swiftly I begin to assemble it. The pieces squeak a little, but no one will notice with the noise from the stage. I finish screwing on the silencer. I think to myself that maybe it will be more fun if I didn't use it but finally decide against it. It will just add to the confusion afterwards: they won't know what happened or where it came from.

I am ready. I lay down on the humid concrete and metal floor and find my prey. There she is. She looks so energetic; she doesn't stay still for too long. That would prove very difficult; otherwise, but I have memorized her dance routine. I know exactly when she will stand relatively still for long enough for me to do my job. I listen to the music for a moment. More like noise actually. All right, its coming I have my rifle ready and I look into the scope. It is an old fashion scope, not the ones they use now with the laser pointer. She is right where I want her.

I count the beats in my head, 1,2,3,4…1,2,3,4… My heart pounds with the anticipation. And then the moment arrives. Your clock has struck the hour bitch. I align the crosshairs on the scope, they're right in the middle of her forehead. She's smiling. I apply a slight pressure to the trigger with my gloved hand. Suddenly I see an explosion of red coming from the face in my scope and then the whole thing is out of sight.

Not too many people have realized what has happened as I arrange myself for a follow-up. Those who have realized it are desperately trying to do something, fans are making desperate attempts to jump over barriers to get on stage, but the guys in yellow are pushing them back, they had their backs to the stage, and many haven't realized what's going on yet. I look down my scope one more time and find a clump of lifeless flesh encased in tight clothing and silicon lying on the stage. I make out a leg and then another, then an arm, there. I find the head, but his time it looks unlike anything I am used to. It does not look at all like the cute pictures of her I find everywhere; it is now just a pile of hair, blood and brains. I take my aim and let her have it "One More Time". Her body quivers as the momentum drives a second bullet through the emptiness of her cranium; passing throughh bone, brain, and finally coming to rest on the metal of the stage.

I have finished my job and I now take the time to take in my creation. By now most people have realized what has happened. They are starting to riot and it is all the police and security personnel can do to keep them from ripping the place apart. Other scared people are mak ing mad dashes for the exits but finding themselves overwhelmed by the crowd already there. Nothing I have ever done has felt so good as this glorious moment.

I pick my things up and pack them a way neatly. The whole briefcase goes in the old electric box and I prepare to make tracks. At the bottom of the s tairs, by the door where I first came in here there are dozens of people running as if the devil himself was after them. I will easily get lost in the confusion. I look back one last time and think to myself next month Ricky Martin is touring.