Arrows Of Gold

Standing here, at the shooting range, my bow at the ready, I focus on the target in the distance. Today is my sixteenth birthday, yet no one cares. I've been preparing for this day for six years now, practicing my archery and biding my time, bitterly and exquisitely. I breathe in and out, barely holding my excitement, smirking to myself.

Celebration is in the air, in the schoolyard turned shooting range, yet the audience is loud and disrespectful, comprised of all the other students and the teachers. I have the sun in my eyes, and my fingers itches as I take a quick glance at all these arrows, negging me from their quiver, as if daring me to shoot, one after the other, one after the other, not at the target no! But at these lousy, at all these lousy imbeciles in the audience, for I do remember what they did! And the hour of reckoning is now, and I glance at the arrows once more, shaking with anticipation...

Yet I know how dangerous this ''feeling'' is, this little voice, its growing whisper tantalizing me, growing, this, why the hell not idea sprouting always so quickly inside my mind, our mind maybe?

Perhaps I should just give in, indulge, and live with whatever choice I take. After all, I can do whatever I want, even though it's been so long. How funny it would be, to witness the terror in their so certain little faces, as I unleash sudden death upon them all, madman, murderer, and all that?

Maybe I will...

I've always done whatever I've wanted, for as long as I remember.

Wait, no, that's not exactly right.

I recall one time, when I was a wee lad, playing with the other kids near the library wall. One of them, a tall and blonde little boy with nice clothes and many friends, kept pestering me about my looks and the strange way I mumbled to myself, crouched over a puddle, inspecting my face. The pretty boy kept asking me about my parents, and if I stole my clothes, since ugly people are evil, and I turned to him and really stared him down. As I was crouched in front of him, I didn't hear a voice per se, but more like a general feeling, a great feeling, a will, the sudden idea to harm this ''other''.

He must've seen it in my eyes, for he panicked for a second and shoved me quite violently. I fell butt first in the puddle, to the laughters of his friends surrounding him. Yet I saw, with my eyes I saw, his expression, that only I could see, this face struck by fear, and from that day on he never dared even look at me no more.

From that day on, I tried to look for and listen to that feeling, any times it would emerge, from whatever situation I was in.

I was hooked!

This feeling of power, of freedom, of boundless potential, of superiority yes, thinking, reasoning to myself, as I mumbled, alone, that I have all the rights to do whatever I want, and others as well; yet they never do, for one reason or another. At lunch I would stare down and take without a second thought the measly meal of a boy, and pull the hair of that one girl I liked, and ignore the teachers, and overall I was pretty happy with myself.

I regarded ''others'' as one thinks of animals, as lesser, bound by limitations, as if locked in a cage - well, they all confused me to no end..

Of course, I write all of this so eloquentely, so many years later, yet I recall precisely how all these impressions were abstract and very much ideas I developped from that one instant, where I truly embraced my desire to do exactly whatever I wanted, whenever I felt like it.

Growing up, I spent all my time alone, since no one dared think of themselves as equal to me; after all I was the very best, the brightest and most impressive of the boys. Even adults didn't dare confront me, fearing whatever reckoning inevitably came with troubling my peace.

Yet nothing could've prepared me for what would happen at my tenth anniversary. I expected the whole school to celebrate with me, such an important milestone, yet around me, only whispers and feigned respect, and a great deal of whispering, which I recall irritated me greatly, for they dared share secrets in my presence, yet none of them could be confronted individually, since they acted as a group!

At lunch, I noticed the teachers were not there, unusually enough. I remember the sun, at its zenith, utterly alone and almost unbearable, pushing down on everything, witness to anything.

I remember every other kid looking at me, in complete silence. I remember glancing around me, to the puzzling face of the many, and I remember breathing heavily, and sweating, and I remember most of all that familiar ''feeling'', telling me irresistibly to shout at them, to swing my arms at them, to free my anger and make them all cower in fear.

And I remember being frozen in place, surrounded by the tall pretty boy, the girl I used to pull her hair, and the other kid that I stole his lunch, and all around me, all the people I had acted upon with that ''feeling'', and my mind went blank as they collapsed on me, and I felt pain and terror as I catched myself onlooking the scene from above,

seeing it all,

their faces, distorted by hatred, their hands shaking by anger, and all their tiny bodies, moving as one, against me, against the common enemy, against the wicked boy that I was, and I realized at that moment, getting hit and scratched and spat upon by countless ''others'' that perhaps this ''feeling'' I grew so fond of, should only be acted upon in crucial moments, in moments of perfect alignements, of golden opportunities, and not indulged at all times like I foolishly thought..

I am convinced the mob of kids would've beaten me to death back then, if an adult didn't intervene to put a stop to it, as onlookers tried to stop them, appaled by the apparent madness that struck every kid in the courtyard, shouting for someone to save that poor boy, bleeding and unable to even stand up by himself.

Yet the adult that saved me, our savior, indulged himself in vengence, in the peace and quiet of the school's infirmery, using the pretext of ''fixing me right up'', to hurt me, and make me understand just what happens when a kid like me, does whatever he wants.

He pushed me on the floor and placed his foot on my calf, pushing with all his might, and as I stared at him in utter confusion, I saw his face, shadowed by hatred and pleasure, as I begged for him to stop hurting me, and the man twisted and pushed harder even, getting closer to me, whispering in my ear that they, too, can do whatever they want.

And at that moment, something shattered in me, not an epiphany per se, since I hate that word, but maybe mortification, a shocking realization, that things are not how I think they are, and in his face, in his eyes I saw something awefuly familiar, something I thought I had forgotten, something I wish I had forgotten.

At that moment, I felt the very same as that day my mother was carrying this massive jar, and fell down the stairs, dying instantly at my feet, pieces of broken pottery and blood all over, and her body, lifeless, at the bottom of the stairs, her arms and legs twisted in a forbidden way,

yes,

at that moment,

something shattered in me,

and the machinations for my ''golden opportunity'' started there and then, clicking and clocking, a goal, a golden goal, at my lowest point, at my most vulnerable, at my lowest point, at my most vulnerable,

and instead of vowing of change, of sorrow and of redemption, I vowed secretly to make them pay hundredfold, oh how will they pay, yet how unexpectedly, and with the same distress and confusion as I, on that fated day, where they took revenge on me, where even the adult dared step down on me...

Yes, I will make them pay in my own, wicked, secret and golden way, for patience is the name of the game, and this game I shall be the very best at playing!

And so I unleash the first arrow, aiming for a perfect shot, bullseye, knowing the mob would all shift their eyes to the target, since I shot at last! And in that golden so GOLDEN opportunity I reach for the arrows, pick three and shift my whole body to the left,

and I catch myself smiling!

I fire on that blond boy, that grew so tall and handsome, and no one notices, for not even a second has gone by, and I fire a second arrow on that damned teacher that dared step on me, and I hit him right between the eyes!

Screams and panic spread instantly, and a gust of wind makes me miss my third shot, and I burst in laughter, looking at all of them running and falling and staring at me, pure fear in their eyes,

and I reach for more arrows, and I unleash more arrows at all of them, and so small and lame they all are!

From behind, a hero, running toward me, hoping to stop me at last, yet I hear him and turn with such skill that I impress even myself, landing the arrow in his throat, yet the hero, a scrawny boy, a few years younger, does not stop, and I have to fire a second, a third arrow, until at last he falls on me, holding me down, as teachers and other kids surround me,

yet I grab one last arrow and leap over the boy, running toward the fence surrounding the schoolyard, quickly firing at the mob in front of me, that disperse, screaming. I grab the arrow but slip, falling badly to my knees, and I waste a few seconds just laying there laughing like a maniac, the realization that I actually did it, slowly emboldening me, and I stand back up, looking all around me, to these dying people, to these running cowards, to this utter CHAOS, and I notice no one is trying to stop me no more.

I run toward the fence, climb it, and balance myself on top of it, searching with my eyes my very last target, more as a challenge to myself than anything, more like sport than anything, more like a way to tell them all, I don't regret it one bit!

And there, that girl I used to pull her hair, standing still, so far away, holding her hand in front of her mouth, damn did I want her! I breathe out, let go of the arrow, and jump off the fence, running toward the forest, not even looking back. I know I hit her! Right in her heart, shot through the heart, her heart pierced by me, and I run toward the forest, a bow and not a single arrow, leaving behind me utter destruction, untold trauma and hatred beyond measure.

I quickly run out of stamina, and of adrenaline. I place my shaking hand on a tree, catching my breath, my senses in alert, yet no one is following me. Why would they risk their life? The forest seemed familiar, yet by now it is nothing short of sickening, and the realization that my whole life, the people I knew and all that, I had thrown out the window, on a whim, and I laugh out loud at how silly this ''golden'' opportunity was, truly.

That is, until I stumble upon a lake, amidst the heart of the forest, and upon staring at my face, my ugly face, in the water's reflection, I wonder if maybe I am truly evil, since I am ugly, and for once in my life I feel like throwing it away, this life of mine and letting myself fall heavily at the bottom of that cold, cold lake, you know what, maybe I'll just do that, since what is the point of all that suffering - yet a few notes stop my spiralling thoughts;

I approach the notes, curiosity overwhelming me, and I throw caution out of the window, placing my bow on my back, and tucking my hands in my pockets, and taking a most tranquil, a most relaxed attitude, as I approach this little camp there in the forest, near the lake. Tall banners, music, tents and what seems like a feast, with countless people, singing and shouting.

To my surprise, some are in complete armor, fencing, as others look on cheering, and horses as well, and wow is this place enchanting!

I place my hands behind my head, smile broadly, and grab a pint of beer, making myself at home with this band of mercenaries, that I intend to call home, this unlikely salvation,

yet amidst this blessing I see myself from above once more, seeing myself meet and greet and drink and laugh with these strangers,

I see myself inevitably waiting for yet another golden opportunity, to embrace that ''feeling'', to do whatever I want, and to laugh all the more while I do it, oh what a thrilling life this is!

A cold hand grabs my by the shoulder, from behind, and I freeze, crushed by the unbearable weight of my crimes, yet the man is warm and welcoming, shaking my hand firmly, and staring deeply in my eyes. In his, nothing but camaradery. He's almost old, and on his hips, a rapier, and on his neck, a talisman in the shape of a ship, the same painted on the banners all over the mercenary camp. He notices my bow, and we talk about archery for a bit.

''Cali, you said? Welcome aboard. So you claim to be a good shot? Why don't you show us, how good of an archer you are?''

I smirk, and tell him, shaking his hand once more, a fontain of joy bursting deep inside me, as we walk toward the others, celebrating;

''Don't you worry, I'll show you!''