Poisoned Arrow

I’ve been shot with a poisoned arrow. Straight thru my chest, back to front, the arrow passing directly in and out of my heart. The poison taking effect almost immediately as it enters my blood stream, quickly circulating throughout my body.

I was shot on purpose by the sneaky little sniper hiding in the tree, or on the roof, wherever the bastard was. He has perfect aim, I know that much. He must have millions of years of practice.

I didn’t even see him. The shot was so fast, the arrow flying out of me was the only clue. Well except for the poison. He’s the only one in the world that’s allowed to use it, that can use it.

The worst part is-there is no cure. Not once you’ve been shot. But it doesn’t kill you either, at least not immediately. It could take years, eons, lifetimes. Once you’ve been poisoned it’s in you forever. And you can never forget about it. It changes you.

The little fucker shot me when I wasn’t looking, wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t expect it, that’s for sure. He shot me with his poison arrow and then disappeared, vanished. Gone off to shoot his arrows at some other poor creatures.

Now I’m left here, poisoned. Shot.

But I’ve never been happier to be alive.

Poisoned Arrow

kashmirecho

San Diego, United States

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Artist's Description

Cupid’s Twist

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