Eric was sweating. Drops of perspiration from his forehead were finding their way to his eyes. His palms were sweaty, too. These were not good signs. Not good at all.
Eric looked down at the long, angry scar on this left hand. His mind flashed back to the last competition, when he was on his way to a first place finish. For his final shot he pulled back on the bow and just as he let go of the bow string, the arrow splintered, sending a large shard of wood into the webbing of his left hand between his thumb and forefinger.
They called it a freak accident. There was a lot of blood and it hurt like hell. Eric was rushed to the hospital and got about 20 stitches. He was assured that, with physical therapy and lots of practice, he could eventually return to competitive archery.
After months of therapy and practice, he was back competing in a tournament. Eric knew the odds of another arrow splintering were infinitesimal, but he couldn’t help but flashback to that day last year. When it was his turn, Eric took a deep breath, pulled the bowstring to the anchor point and let the arrow fly.
Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner from Roger Shipp. Photo credit. GaborfromHungary at Morguefile.