In the twilight, I could just make out the shape of a man, covered with a cloak, moonbeams clutching the pleats in the soft fabric. He stood motionless among twisted tree branches and knotted gnarly trunks.
An owl flew overhead.
I fixed an arrow to my bowstring and took careful aim at the shade before me.
When I let fly, the string hummed in harmony with the whistle of my bolt through the darkness, the short mood completed with a satisfying 'plunk' in cresendo.
I rushed through the undergrowth, brushing the talons of the woods aside and cracking my shins into fallen logs like Barry Bonds in a steroid induced self destructive craze.
When I reached my aim, all I found was an old Holocaust Cloak with a note:
"Missed me again, jerkface!"
I rubbed my shins and scratched my chin thoughtfully. There was nothing left for me to do, so I powered on the Xbox.
1 comment:
Did you keep the holocaust cloak? You never know when one'll come in handy...
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