#i have first hand experience about how a higher weight bow too early can fuck you up

[peachdoxie]

About seven years ago, I got certified as a US Archery level 2 archery instructor via the coaches I first started learning archery with. During our lesson on adaptive archery, they set up a rig they designed for a visually impaired student after her mother asked how she could bring her daughter to learn archery at the range.

The rig consisted of a few pieces, one made of 2x4s and PVC pipe, and the other one from a camera tripod. There were two adjustable knobs to help the girl have proper form—one for her bowhand to know where to place it, and one that was either for her back or draw hand (I can't remember) to know where to stop. It also had boards on the floor to help her feet stay in the right place.

The tripod had a string leading from it to the target, as well as a flag on it so the girl would know where to stop without walking into the arrows (stopping 3ft from the target wall was normal procedure in lessons at the range so that newbies wouldn't stab themselves in the face with the nock). I can't remember how they marked the target so the girl would know where on it the arrows landed, but I know there was something they did to help her with that. They wanted her to be as autonomous as possible while using the rig.

It was one of my favorite lessons of the whole training, and it's a great example of how accessible archery can be with a little bit of effort.

Don't let the fact that you've not done something before be the thing that stops you from trying it!

[shatner-the-catner]

He spun around, trying to locate the source of that terrible noise. He couldn’t see anything. It’s too damn dark, he resigned. Why is it so fucking dark, he thought angrily. There was something very wrong here. Something quite obviously and biblically wrong. It’s safe to say there was nothing right about it.

His eyes scanned the parking lot, searching for figures or movement. In the darkness, his eyes began to feel sore under the pressure to identify and label. The only thing he could make out was the tree branches gently surfing the wind’s waves. It was a very pleasant night and he should have felt safe, but he knew that danger was not far away.

There’s that sound again, he thought to himself. This one was quicker and higher pitched, but still low and almost Jurassic. His head turned to the east end, where he thought he could have seen movement.

And he saw them.

A group of Canada geese. More than a dozen. From his perspective they stood silently, however the Leader’s head-tossing indicated that words were being said amongst each other. They stood sideways, their Bow and Port facing eyes sharply and steadily fixated on him.

They took a few steps forward, five if you want to get technical about it. They walked in short steps calmly, their leader demonstrating a few more head tosses.

He felt his heart woodpecker it’s way through his chest. He found himself panting softly. The urge to run back to his car was there, gently and politely tugging away at his amygdala, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if he simply decided to stay out of a malignant case of curiosity, or if there was some diabolical force keeping his feet frozen.

I can’t move, he thought. I can’t talk, his mind reported. The geese were approaching at an increased pace. They must think you have bread, he said to himself. That’s got to be it. They just got used to humans giving them food so they expect it now.

He soon realized that was not the case.

The leader then lowered his head, lifted the crests of his wings slightly, and began a moderately paced charge in his direction.

He saw them coming, but he still couldn’t move. Something horrible was weighing his feet down and they wouldn’t budge. The geese kept coming, heads lowered and mouths agape. That was when he first learned that geese can drool. He noticed the big ones up front slobbering as they quickened their pace. Their drool lines swayed clumsily as their bodies moved with increased speed.

They bellowed. The sound seemed to make Olly’s eyeballs vibrate. There was something deep within his ancestral instincts that alarmed him. The same alarm that alerted ancient men when they were being stalked by predators. Olly felt this cavernous siren go off loudly in his bones.

They were getting closer.

Most people are unaware that horror and terror and two different emotions. Terror is the unpleasant feeling of dread and anticipation that precedes a dangerous or traumatic event. Whereas horror is what one experiences after the traumatic event.

Olly still couldn’t move. They were coming faster.

It was only when they were a few feet away that he finally noticed the red rings around their black eyes. They were like firey rings stoked by the flames of hell. And all he saw behind those eyes was cold, animalistic indifference. It now came to his full awareness that a flock of more than a dozen geese were charging at him. And they were drooling, displayed bright red eyes, and howled like dinosaurs.

Somehow he managed to force his feet to move under his own power, and he bolted towards the Kia. He left it unlocked, and thank Holy Providence that he did, because once he slammed the door he heard a loud THUD. Peeking out the window, he saw that the geese had chased him all the way and were now ferociously pecking and kicking the car. The noise was unnerving and loud.

Thud. Thud. THUD.

Dozens of geese surrounded his car and began behaving like a pack of wild velociraptors.

The pecks and scratches from their wing claws sent pure terror to the pit of his stomach. He began whimpering softly as he fumbled to get the key in the ignition. With each peck, scratch, and THUD, the core of his DNA shuddered.

“Oh fuckfuckfuck,” he quivered.

His hands were trembling, and with each thumping sound he heard he nearly dropped his keys. When he heard another honk-roar, he did drop his keys. In a panic, his foot kicked them under the pedals. Folding himself against his gut, he reached. With all his might, he reached. His finger kissed the metal of one ring, but still, the grasp eluded him. Out of breath, he tried again. There were more THUDS, it almost sounded like it might be raining frogs. It was like prehistory itself was having a go at modern technology.

It is incredibly difficult to do much of anything when one is drowning in terror, but he finally managed. He pawed the keys within reach and grabbed them. Then he turned the car over, ripped open the parking break with wild abandon, and shifted into reverse. He immediately felt two or three bumps as he backed up. He knew exactly what they were, but all he could feel was relief as he was backing out. And like a bat straight out of the city center in Hell, he drove off.

Very soon after, he awoke in his bed, with a full body quake that nearly vibrated half his sheets off. Quite wearily, he started to realize that he’d just had another one of his old nightmares about demons. They were a rare occurrence these days, nevertheless they were always quite burdensome. Oftentimes, they were all it took to put him in a lousy mood for the entire day. He always tried to remind himself when he was dreaming, in an effort to control them, but it never worked.

Olly could never remember to look at his hands when he dreamt.

PART IV

Such a day should have known better than to begin.

“I forgive you,” she had said tenderly over the phone, hours before. The tone of her voice suggested that the previous day was nothing more than water under the bridge. He felt relieved. But when she asked if they could meet for another goose date, he popped two different benzodiazepines at the very start of that suggestion. Still, he agreed to meet her. He was determined to make things work with this lovely girl. Come Hell or high water.

He was perhaps too medicated to notice the fresh blood and feathers stuck to his bumper.

He exited the vehicle, light-headed and a bit unsteady. Looking across the parking lot, he could see her sitting on the ground, under the Taco Bell sign, with a little over a dozen geese surrounding her. With a kind breeze, and in light of that benign early morning, he thought maybe she looked a bit like St. Francis. He began to approach her.

He did not feel any fear, his dose of Xanax and Klonopin wouldn’t allow it to cross the border of his mind. Forward, he walked thickly. The geese looked at him, and upon closer inspection, he could see five goslings standing next to their parents. His heart swelled involuntarily at the sight of the adorable little fuzz balls. As he drew closer, he could hear their tiny little baby peeping noises. How cute, he pondered.

“Hey Olly,” she smiled at him.

“Hey…” he could barely muster under his own slurs.

The geese parted and he sat down next to her. They regarded each other quite vehemently for a small moment of time. She smiled at him with her eyes and then leaned forward and gave him a hug that cooled his baseline anxiety levels to a spectacular degree. Oh God, that feels good, he realized. Tenderly, she patted his back.

“I’m so sorry - ,” he whimpered, muffled against her red jacket.

“Shhhh…” she cut him off.

She gently patted his back and just held him. This was the first physical contact that he’d ever had that held any emotional weight. The feeling was intoxicating. He took a small inhale of her scent and began to feel positively drunk.

Then she leaned him over onto her lap. He accepted this invitation and laid sideways on her folded legs. It almost started to make him feel uncomfortable, but then she did the most divine thing and began running her fingers through his hair. It sent pleasure waves through his nervous system. She petted and cooed nice things in his ear and he started to feel dangerously relaxed. If they continued to go on in this fashion, there was a possibility that he could fall asleep on her.

Still, he laid his head down woefully in her inviting lap, and began to feel completely at peace with the world. All was right with reality, his mind pledged.

She started singing softly to him in Korean. The weight of all his burdens seem to melt away. The skies appeared more bright, and the breeze felt like a gentle blanket, swaddling him. There were precious few times in his life that he felt so comfortable. He nestled in her lap as she petted him tenderly. Fingers forking the strands of his locks, she continued to sing.

Then, he became hazily aware that the geese were closing in on the two. Precisely and naturally, they waddled forward. They didn’t make much noise except a few low grunt-honks, and didn’t say much beyond the occasional head-toss. He should have felt scared, but Sandra’s head rubs were hypnotizing him into a sleepy stupor.

Indeed his eyelids were heavy, and when he opened them again after a brief rest, he noticed that the geese were now mere inches away from his face. They steadily peered at him from the angle of their tilted heads. He looked up and considered the one immediately to his right to be exceptionally curious. The gander tilted his head downward to get a better look at him, a habit common with birds that have sideways-facing eyes.

Soon everything would change. It would be natural to assume that what was about to occur would terrorize him, but really, he was not totally able to feel fear. It could have been the medication or the gentle caresses from her hand, but he laid there still. Maybe he did feel the slightest suggestion of worry, but it was dull and easy enough to ignore.

Then the pecking began.

Very lightly, they started to peck at his flesh. It didn’t hurt, but felt more exploratory. The geese surrounded them, two leaned over and peppered his bicep with tiny nibbles. He should have lifted himself out of her lap and shooed the geese away. Regrettably, he could not.

The weight of his medication, and possibly some other unseen force, was keeping him sheltered him her lap. Peck, peck, peck, they continued. The subtle terrain of terror was beginning to appear on the horizon. The geese still pecked and bit, perhaps a bit harder this time. He wanted to get up. Oh dear God in heaven, he wanted to move so desperately. But something was leashing him in position.

She slowly got up from under his head and placed him on the ground. His body poured awkwardly onto the asphalt. The geese circled him tighter. He managed to tilt his head towards to sky, only to see what was perhaps a feathered demon bear sharp teeth that it grew out of sheer will. Drool dripped from it’s smelly mouth.

They began with his eyes.

There was no pain, but like how one can still feel the pressure of dental surgery even when on novacain, he felt a deep pop within his eye socket. Then, permanent darkness out of it, forever. The Horror was beginning. This undeniable intense fear started to form in his brain stem and radiated outwards. The goose gobbled up the deflated eye, chewing on it’s lense.

He could not scream. He was completely unable to utter any cry, nor wail. Instead he shifted his bleeding head towards the side, and with his remaining eye he watched her, sitting on the ground, overseeing the geese as they began to devour him.

The only thing he could utter, as the blood dripped down his face, was, “Demon…from Hell…”

She glared at him so vacantly. A totally inhuman stare that only seemed to know greed and disgust. And divorced from any human emotions at all she said, “Hell, I suppose so.”

It took them two hours to finish his entire body. Oddly enough, not a single car drove by in all that time. Maybe it wasn’t just that people weren’t in the right mood for Taco Bell that day. Perhaps it was something more characteristic of the devil. Or a force that was seasoned by prehistory.

A new flock arrived overhead, “Ba-HONK!,” they cried.

TAIL FEATHERS (end)