I know I recently started a story, but I'm in the mood for posting one I wrote a while ago, so please don't tear me out. Lost: Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale. Focus. The slender tip of your arrowhead must always remain in the perfect centre of your vision. Strength. Pull your bowstring back, and keep it there. Inhale, exhale. Stealth. Stay hidden and silent. Focus your breathing at a relaxed pace, keeping your view of them sharp, but their view of you obstructed. Patience. Wait for the position of a perfect shot. The centre of the neck makes them drop clean more times than not. Shoot. ------------ Tell me what you think!
Since no-ones read this, I'm going to write the next part to see if people do Critiscm is appriciated! PS: Auto-correct is off and I can't spell, bear with me. ---------- I always enjoy the few seconds before one of my kills. The clean cut of smooth, refined steel slicing effortlessley through the misted air, making no sound. The look in the animals eyes as their pupils shrink, their eyeballs become glassy, and their windpipe fills with blood. With the speed at which my arrows travel, the foul thing doesn't have a chance to flutter it's eyelid. On this occassion, I had claimed the measly life of a deer. I care not for the dirty, rough hide, or for their tangled and useless antlers. Unlike most, I do not wish tl mindlessley adorn my home with pointless trophies. All I care for are the lean hunks of peppery red meat, hidden away under tough skin. Venison always grants me a likeable weight in gold and pleases my own palate, which is why, of all the useless and helpful things a deer carcass beholds for me, I care only for the meat. I am also gifted, as I can poach a large group of deer in one day, with time to sell the chops and drink away half the gold. I am known for my skills in hunting and for my use of bow and arrows. Well, that last sentence was a slight understatement. I, Olive the Huntress, am world reknown for my mastery of the art of hunting, and for my expertise in using any boy with any arrow. Fifteen long years it took me to train my skills into the razor sharp point they are today. It took me fifteen years filled with crime, toil, death, destruction, and the perfection of a stone cold heart for me to earn my fame, fortune and freedom. You must think of me as a mature woman, at least thirty years of age. Well I am not. I have only lived on this earth for twenty years, and not one soul, aside from myself, knows my true story. Many, however, believe they do. Poets and writers have created legends about me, fixing together a mixture of lies and assumption to bring wonder to my name, and marvel to the mostly sparse minds of people. I bet now you want to hear the truth. Your mind will be parched, begging me to give you the truth... So here it is. The cold hard truth those stories have made you think you've known. It is neither a short or pretty story, but no word written is a lie. ----------- Sorry for spelling