The Archer

Walking through the woods I feel lost; I get through the thick dense woods, and stumble into a clearing that stretches out until the clearing turns into another even thicker part of the forest.
I see an archer in the distance.
Readying his bow for the day’s work.
He carefully puts the arrow on the bow.
Scouts the area, faces west and shoots.
Trying to follow where the arrow goes, I cannot for the arrow is too fast, and too small for my weak eyes to see.
I look over and I see where it hit, a small deer, dead lying in the ground. Thinking he would go and get his kill I wait to see where he’s going, maybe I could ask this man for help. He instead turns away from the west and now faces east.
Searching again he looks with his precise eye and finds the next kill, the one that I cannot see and yet he carefully puts the arrow on the bow and shoots.
Whatever animal it was; it is now dead.
The archer picks up another arrow and faces south doing same thing always pausing, waiting, gazing.
And then it happens, swiftly, another animal is dead.
He now faces north, staring over the clearing, the hunt is his passion.
I try to adopt his precise eye and start to look for animals he could kill.
I see a squirrel, going about his business gathering nuts and such for his survival.
I see a pheasant and her flock of young following close behind.
I see an opossum walking to a little stream flowing out into the field.
I get nervous for these small creatures, which one will meet its immediate death?
My eyesight might be bad, but my hearing is up to par. I hear the archer pull back on the bow.
I close my eyes hold my breath and wait for the archer’s arrow to come and kill one of these innocent animals.
I hear a thud.
I open my eyes, and see all the animals have scattered, but are alive.
I look down and see the arrow in the dirt by my feet.
Suddenly I realize that I’m the chosen prey.
I try to signal to him that I’m not an animal.
I wave my arms, and jump up and down.
I try to shout but, my voice seemed to have run away with the animals.

The Archer has paused, he seems confused and yet well aware of what has happened.
He starts to take out another arrow.
I wave my arms in a bigger, more dramatic way, trying to stop him. He shoots, but again misses.
I start running. I pass the dead deer in the west.
Once more he shoots and misses.
Frantically he shoots more.
Relentlessly he keeps going. The arrows are flying past me, so close to me; I feel the wind of them all around me.
As I run for my life, I realize the archer will not stop.
I slow down for the briefest of seconds and just like that….
My feeble attempt to run has failed:

I am hit, right through the heart.

My voice decides to come back to me at that moment and the clearing is now submerged in my screams. Birds flee the surrounding trees, afraid of what monster has awoken in the forests. It’s no monster but, little old me.
It seems like everything is being sucked out of me via the scream. The pain is like no other. I feel the grass beneath me and I pull chunks of soil out; the dirt goes under my nails. The tears start to come and they drop onto the soft ground. I see a worm in chunk of soil I ripped out. It looks so strange, so out of place and vulnerable. I gasp and choke on the air that tries to get into my lungs while these tears falling have no problem coming out.
I am weak from everything that has happened.
I hear the footsteps of the archer coming towards me…..
He must want to see the beast that made him lose all this arrows.
I roll over so I can see the face of my killer. It takes the last of my energy and my eyes are starting to get foggy.
I look at him, it seems like I know this man, but I know it was just the thought of a dying person.
Wishing I knew him.
At that moment I realize that I am the worm, vulnerable and withering in the sun.

I gaze at him even more closely and see that he is blind.

I try to speak.

Try to communicate in anyway. Instead close my eyes, pitying him, hoping that one day he finds out what he is doing in this forest he lovingly calls home.

The Archer

MusingMatthew

Ray, United States

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