Deadly Arrows

The postal truck rounded the curve and slid to a stop alongside a rotted two-by-four
supporting the mailbox. The driver reached out the window and stuffed a bundle of
envelopes into the rusty box. Then the vehicle’s rear tires spun on a patch of ice
before it launched forward and disappeared around the bend in the road.

Just like clockwork, she appeared at the cabin door. Wearing only a tee shirt and
jeans, she dashed for the mailbox. As she came around to the front of the box, I pulled
back on the string, hesitated, then released.

The arrow hurtled between the trees. The direct hit sent a spine-tingling thud through
the forest. I sucked in a breath of frigid air as I watched her crumple to the ground.

It was done. Time to go.

Copyright(c)Debra Lee
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