Chapter 51: Teucer @ 2.7 nhs
488 Words
Chapter 51: Teucer @ 2.7 nhs
Teucer pulled the bowstring.
His focus narrowed to a point. There was nothing between him and the target. The bow was an extension of his being, just another limb that he could attach and let go. Just like his arms.
He let the arrow fly.
He could see it arc and fly to the little yellow space on the target.
10 points.
He let the bow loose from his grip and it hang from his strap, then spun and pointed downwards.
Now he could wait for his opponent.
A Russian. Non-disabled. Teucer couldn’t help but grin. He must have looked menacing, but in truth he respected his opponent far too much.
An Olympian. Competing with him, the disabled one.
On the same level of competence, for all the world to see.
Teucer glanced at his opponent’s shot.
10 points. Naturally. That put them both at 20 points, and with one shot left for each. Just a tug on the bowstring.
He pulled another arrow, aimed with his instinct alone and fired on the target, once again stripping everything around him from his mind.
10 points. 30 was the maximum total, and he had just achieved it.
His Russian friend sweating. He needed a perfect shot himself just to get a tie. The tie was judged with the number of inner 10s, which was an even smaller circle on the inside of the yellow 10 for those exact occasions. Teucer had scored 2 inner 10s from his three 10s, and the Russian had scored one inner 10 so far.
Teucer looked around at his townsfolk. They had turned the place orange and red, flying la Rojigualda proudly. His grandma, his neighbour, his high-school sweetheart, his baker, his plumber, his English teacher, they were all there to support him.
He was so touched by them. He teared up.
He turned back to his Russian friend. He was in place, but still hesitating. For the first time, he was using up all of the forty seconds each of them had for each shot.
“Don’t think about it,” he told him in English.
The Russian glanced at him. “What are you doing, trying to distract me?” he said with a thick accent. His coach was pissed off, ready to call on the refs.
“No, my friend. Just let the arrow fly. This shot is no different than the thousands you’ve fired already.”
The Russian raised his bow. A held breath. Then release.
10 points. An inner one, too.
“Yes!” Teucer exclaimed and cheered, his cyberarms high.
The Russian looked at him with a curious frown. “Why are you happy for the tie?”
Teucer shook his arm firmly, smiling. “Because, my friend, I get to play you at your best. Now we go to the shoot-off to see who gets the gold.”
The Russian bowed his head. “I can hardly wait, my friend.”
Teucer took his spot again, waiting for the judges to call the tie and the shoot-off.
His dream has just come true.
Praise Hermes for that.
- Writer
