Archer.

‘Take aim’, she says.

Easy if you have a target, I think. My smirk morphs into a quick puff of laughter, while the eyes roll up and away… followed by a quick nod indicating agreement. My sarcasm relayed in full.

She’s right about one thing. I do have trouble fitting in on this planet. I don’t identify the same targets as most of the other spirits… other humans.  

Should I mention to her… that I fought coming here. For a decade, as stubborn in that life - as I am in this one.

A machine, full of broken parts. Mind and body, wielded together, yet far apart. I keep my spirit in a cardboard box… holes punched out so that it gets just enough oxygen. If I let it out, it will consume me… engulf me… and I’ll flash bright, only to burn out.

So hand me that bag of arrows, the bow… tighten the blindfold, and duck.