Revalation

2. Blending Into One

If an arrow is placed to the left of the bow when locked in, it is important to know that you must then aim slightly to the left of the target. And vise-versa when the arrow is placed to the right. When the arrow is shot, at first it will travel exactly where it was aimed, but the end of the arrow gluiding across the bow will straighten its path. When shot just right, this will end in a clean hit to the intended target.

I hadn't ever been a good archer myself, but when my dad died and mum went crazy and dissappeared the week after, it was then up to me to keep myself and Mort from starving. The first time I picked up the arrow, it looked easy. But I was quite mistaken. The first few weeks were the worst. We barely ate, seeing as I couldn't catch a bloody thing. I never had any proper training with the bow. Dad had said he was planning on teaching me how to use it at some point, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon now.

Each day Mort and I would leave the house when the sky was bright and blue, when there was no chance of encountering the hellish creatures that danced the earth at night. They never came out during the day. The sight of the sun meant the earth was ours once again, until night fall of course. Mort was only young, and I didn't trust him being in the house alone all day. He hated the idea too. After what he had seen happen to our father, and after our mother dissapeared, he never wanted to be left alone. So he tagged alongside me everyday, jumping over fallen branches, picking up unusual leaves, and playing with dirt. Mort was always quiet, which helped with the hunting. Never once had he scared an animal away, aside from some small lizards that he sometimes chased when bored.

We would spend hours wandering the hard, dry land in search of an unlucky animal that would make a filling meal, and often only coming home with a magpie, maybe a big enough lizard, or a possum if we were lucky. I was nowhere near as good as my dad was at hunting, but I had no other choice.

It took me about two months to get the hang of the weapon. I was able to shoot it with ease, and hit more animals. Mort would always squeak with delight everytime I hit one. Even he knew I was getting better. Another few months and I was hitting almost every creature I aimed at, which was mostly magpies, seeing as they required less work to cook. The bow felt comfortable in my hands.

The days all molded together: going out in the morning, talking with Mort as we walked, hitting a few animals, walking back home before sunset, cooking up dinner, and cowering in the darkest corner of our bedroom at night, listening to the sickening howls and moans of the monsters that had taken our normal lives away. We had become used to the routine.

I had never actually seen one properly, either too scared to look out the window, or they were too far away to make out in the dark. I don't think I ever wanted to see one anyway. They never usually came too close to the house, which was reassuring. On one occasion though, I remember waking up, thinking it was just a normal day, then seeing large, deep scratch marks on our front door porch. I hadn't even heard it during the night. That was roughly a year ago. It hasn't happened again since then, so I am usually able to get a decent night sleep without worrying.

It had been three years now since Mort and I began to fend for ourselves in this hard world. The only way I knew this was because I had learnt how to measure the time by the weather. Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring, repeat. Every day had molded together, every year was the same. And I knew that this year was going to be no different from the rest, but I kept getting a small feeling that everything was about to change.