I reached my hand into the quiver, pulled out a stone headed arrow and notched it to the string. I pulled it back slowly, feeling the light pull. In front of me, twenty-five feet away was a standard Bull’s-eye. I centered and closed my eyes, visualizing the target. My eyes snapped open and I let go. “Thunk,” I hit a bull’s eye. Repeating the process multiple times, “Thunk,” I hit the fifth bull’s eye in a row. This was much easier than I thought. Briefly I glanced at the small cluster of arrows buried into the small red circle, then looked at Colton, who was staring at me, disbelief on his face. “Thunk.” His jaw fell slack as I made my sixth in a row. I continued looking at him as I shot again. “Thunk,” seventh.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Thunk,” eighth. Colton opened his mouth to speak. “Thunk,” ninth. He closed his mouth. We’d been practicing archery for fifteen minutes. Colton had given me a brief demonstration, landing a bull’s eye and some other relatively close shots. I stepped up while Colton handed me the bow with an anticipating grin and watched me shoot. His reaction was fun to watch. I could feel the tie of friendship between us. I hadn’t had any friends since my parents died. I’d been a loner. “Thunk,” tenth. I deliberately closed my eyes and turned my head as far back as my neck would allow and shot. “Thunk,” eleventh. As I opened my eyes Colton finally spoke.
“Damn Marcus, eleven in a row, and you only started today. How do you do it?” he asked. I shrugged.
“I don’t know, I just feel it.” To prove my point, I notched two arrows, and let them fly. “Thunk, thunk,” twelfth, thirteenth. Colton just stared at the target, now filled with arrows.
“Damn,” he said again. He looked at me and a strange look came across his face. His eyes lit up.
“What?” I asked. “Thunk,” fourteenth. Colton’s weird expression deepened.
“I need to tell my grandfather something,” he exclaimed. He turned and sprinted to the house.
“Crazy kid,” I mumbled. I watched as he disappeared inside the house. I looked down at my almost empty quiver, just five arrows left. I had an idea.
By the time Colton got back I had four arrows on the string, my hand pulling back the string all the way.
“What was that about?” I asked. Colton shook his head.
“Nothing,” he lied. He saw my four arrows. He grinned.
“Impossible,” he said. I grinned back to him and let go. “Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.” Eighteen bull’s eyes in a row. Colton’s grin widened.
“Damn,” he said. I pulled out the last arrow.
“Call me Robin Hood.” I let the arrow fly. I could feel it cut through the air, the wind whipping past its tip. There was a ripping sound. The arrow was in the middle of the bull’s eye, split right down the middle of another arrow. I’d split an arrow. I looked to Colton. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Let’s go get some lunch, Robin Hood,” he muttered. We walked to the house with me looking smug the whole way.
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