Some Mythologies Bleed through the Cracks of 12 Space

On the Question of Exact Intent ~ L’Serec & C’Ylondre

The air is laser sharp

L’Serec and C’Ylondre walk across the forest floor

They clear the trees and come to the ledge of a vast canyon

He indicates that she should sting her bow

He says
Every poem is an arrow
Sharp on one end
beautiful in the hand, it can cut
Multi colored and featheryon the other

He hands it to her and she just wants to hold it
Look at it
Keep it

The bladesso sharp the cut the light falling on them

The feathers
Such a strange bird it must have been

Nock the arrow

She nocks the lovely slender arrow

Draw!

She pulls hoping that he is only fooling
Hoping he’ll tell her to relax her grip
Hoping he’ll not tell her to shoot . . .

Release he shouts

And before her mind can stop her
Her hand lets fly the arrow

And it is sooooo beautiful
Only now is it so complete
And it’s arching into the distance . . .

He laughs

It must be released before it can truly be appreciated
See how it catches the morning sun
See how it arcs

You are so careless. she shouts
I have no idea where its going
How will I find it now that its gone?

Look at your hand.
And there is another arrow
Somehow different and yet as beautiful as the first

This isnt funny. she says

His eyes were deadly earnest
Its not meant to be.

She nocks the new arrow
Takes aim at his chest . . .

He doesnt flinch

The arrow pierces his right shoulder barely missing the top of his lung
and nipping the top of his right shoulder blade

His expression is enigmatic

I didn’t say release!

You knew I would!

Come here and pull this thing out
No not back out
Youll have to pull it in the direction it was going.
Break the feather end off first!

Ouch

Now pu l l l l l l Dont stop – Pull damn it!

I have injured you.
Speak to me
Speak to me!

That hurt.

What can I do?

In my kit there is a vial of clear liquid and clean cotton patches.
Yes, now soak your hands and the patches in the liquid
Don’t be afraid to spill it
Split the patches
Put one on the hole in the front
And one on the bac . k k k. k,. k .k .k !
Damn that hurts.

Hold still

Why
So you can shoot me again?

Are you going to die?

Not at the moment
But the day is young.

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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