Some say opportunity is a one time phenomenon. A lucky streak that visits you on its whim, when you least expect it.
Others believe the exact opposite, that there's nothing like luck and everything you get or lose is a product of your own personal training and moves made.
I believe in them both. I believe the two philosophies go hand in hand, that hard work breeds luck and luck breeds opportunity.
Without hard work and training, one wouldn't be able to prepare the conditions in which luck would visit and then can't use the opportunity that luck brings.
I believe my remaking of the saying is real, for that's the only reason why I'm here, right now, with a gun in my hand, a single bullet and a target 200 meters away that holds my ticket out of poverty.
It was a tinkered 45. Revolver, spiked with more powder to give it enough power to shoot the target which is more than double the intended firing distance of the gun.
I looked again at the gun, its barrel a bit misshapen from the tinkering. The extra powder packed into the chamber made the gun heavier - unstable even and I knew it would be a problem.
My opponent seemed to have the same grievances as me, even though this was his idea.
Our referee called us together...
"There's no way I can use this gun." My opponent, Sir Mike, declared.
"What's wrong with it?" The referee asked calmly.
"It feels wrong."
"Mr Mike, you're the one that suggested this contest and show of skill in front of witnesses in the first place." The referee calmly reminded him and walked back to his post.
Mike looked at his gun, shook his head and walked back to his side.
We didn't talk to each other, didn't even glance at each other.
We were both veteran actors, both great marksmen, good friends and it seems we were both in over our heads.
This gig is a big one, one big enough to fight for yes, and with the unsafe conditions of this gun, it seemed it's one we possibly might die for.
The idea was who could land a shot on the target gets the ticket of being the star of the show.
Being the star of a movie as big as this is my ticket to the big screens, I could already hear the crowds applause already.
"On your marks..."
I raised my gun, testing the weight on my palm, the wind was still blowing against my finger so I adjusted my aim.
The target was circular, its inner markings indistinguishable so we just had to shoot as far close to the center as possible.
As I fiddled with the trigger, the sheer impossibility of this stunt hit me, I found myself out of breath. Still there was no time for doubts now.
No space in my head either, for as the referee shouted fire, the blast and sound from Mike's gun shook my body thoroughly.
It was the most horrendous feeling, second only to the feeling I got from my gun as it fired.
My hand felt numb, even with the small ear muffs, I could still feel my ears ringing and the flash gave me black spots.
I looked at Mike and saw that he was looking at me. Our guns in shambles, yet we stood in silence as we waited for the verdict. The moment of truth.
They brought our targets closer and it was clear, I had won, for only my target was marked.
It seemed Mike missed the board.
I didn't know he would take it, for my shouting could be misinterpreted as me mocking my childhood friend.
He walked up to me, shook me and pulled me into a hug and spoke the words I needed to hear.
"Drey. Don't throw away your shot."
This is my entry to @theinkwell fiction prompt: Ticket.
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