PART 1
The first shot missed.
The crowd sighed.
Another shot.
Missed again.
People started whispering.
The teenage girl lowered the rifle.
Her hands were shaking.
Across the field, experienced competitors smirked.
One man laughed loudly.
“She doesn’t belong here.”
The girl heard him.
But said nothing.
She loaded the final round.
The last bullet.
The crowd was already losing interest.
Then she fired.
BANG!
The target didn’t move.
The judges looked confused.
Everyone assumed she had missed again.
But one of the judges suddenly stood up.
His face had gone pale.
He grabbed his binoculars.
Looked again.
Then started running toward the target.
The crowd fell silent.
Because attached to the center of the target was something impossible.
A small metal tag.
And engraved on it was the name of a competitor who had disappeared fifteen years earlier.
PART 2 IN COMMENTS 👇👇👇
PART 2
The judge carried the tag back with trembling hands.
The crowd pushed closer.
The girl stared at it.
Confused.
The judge looked directly at her.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
The girl swallowed hard.
“My father taught me.”
The judge froze.
Because the name on the tag belonged to her father.
A man everyone believed was dead.
Then the girl reached into her jacket.
And pulled out an old photograph.
The judge nearly dropped it.
Because standing beside her father in the picture…
Was the judge himself.
And he had no memory of ever taking that photo.
