#verse ✎ Carve the secrets from your bruised still heart

[unrealization]

The Snapped String - a drabble

When was the last time Yukari Takeba held a bow? It had certainly been a few years, but it felt like some kind of divine providence when she passed it. A beautiful daikyū tossed in the trash like garbage. She wasn't generally one to go on about tradition, but it was disrespectful. This weapon was a piece of history. It was actually in a dumpster near a high school, so she couldn't help but imagine a student had used it. Had that school lost its archery team to budget cuts? How sad.

When she'd seen the daikyū tossed aside like that she felt an odd sympathy for it. Before she'd even known what she was doing, she'd dug it out of the trash and taken it home. She spent the next week or so researching how to restore it and then going through the arduous process on her own.

Eleven missed calls.

Still, once the bow was shining again, she felt a tiny amount of fulfillment. She'd managed to save it. Save it.

Save it.

It wasn't long before she was looking for archery ranges. Somewhere where she could put the beautiful bow to good use. She imagined it would be sad if it couldn't serve its purpose.

Purpose.

In time she found one and made her way there. It would have been one thing if she had just been on the archery team in high school, but she had actually gotten real combat experience during her time with SEES. Surely she wouldn't be that rusty.

She took a practiced stance, holding the bow in front of her. The daikyū had a slightly different pull angle from a western-style bow. She took the string in her hand, and pulled it back. It was heavier than she remembered. Or, rather she wasn't as strong as she used to be.

She released the tension on the bowstring. Only one way to fix that. Practice. She took out an arrow and pulled the string back.

"Wow! Takeba-san! You're incredible!"

The voice of one of her teammates from back then rang in her ear. Back then, she had been able to do so much. She was the fastest shot on the team. She could fire bank shots and consistently land them on the target. Now she was struggling just to pull back the string. Her hands trembled, her uncalloused fingers stung, and when she released the shot it didn't even reach the target.

She should have gone pro.

She lined up another arrow and failed to hit the target again.

She should have kept practicing.

She pulled back the string.

She should have been more honest with herself.

The arrow stuck in the ground.

She should have known Ikutsuki was lying.

Next shot.

She should have stood up when Nyx arrived.

Her hand trembled.

She should have stopped him.

The arrow struck the edge of the target.

She should have stayed in touch with the others more.

Her fingers hurt as she pulled the string.

What if they talked about him?

The arrow hit the target.

Eleven missed calls.

She looked down the length of the arrow.

He was dead because the world was rotten.

She landed a shot.

People still desired Nyx.

Next shot.

The bow had distracted her for a while.

Next shot.

She was already getting the hang of it again.

Next shot.

This distraction wouldn't last.

Next shot.

She was rotten, too.

Bullseye.

She was part of why he had to die.

Bullseye.

She wanted another tragedy.

Bullseye.

What would the next distraction be?

Bullseye.

The pain got bigger the more she ran from it.

Bullseye.

Her life was just one distraction after the next. An endless cycle of regression. She had become her mother. She couldn't move forward. Everyone else had found new purpose after he passed, but she didn't. A part of her resented them for it, but her true enemy was herself. The thoughts wouldn't go away. The desire for an end to her pain. The sleepless nights praying for the dark hour. The drive to find new distractions. One after another. To forget the hunger. The hollow in her heart growing more and more.

Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye.

Her old strength and poise returned quickly, and she pulled the bowstring back further and further until-

A loud snap rang through the range, and a sharp pain followed it. A cry escaped her lips as the sudden jolt of pain pulled her back to the present moment.

The bowstring had snapped, violently striking her in the cheek as it swung wildly from the pressure. a hot stream of blood poured from the injury. She placed a trembling hand on the cut, feeling the warm liquid trickling between her fingers. It wasn't as bad as it felt, but she was stuck with it.

She fell to her knees, her beautiful weapon clattering to the floor along with her. Her gaze fell on it, its perfect wooden shaft stained with her blood.

"I'm so sorry."

It was as though the bow were her younger self, glaring at her. She stayed for but a moment. Before long, she had to stand again. Dust herself off. Wipe her face and get back to what had become of her life. Every day she got further from where she wished she was, and she knew that she could only live like this for so long. Life went on, whether she wanted it to or not.

The very next day she woke up from another dream of better days. She passed by the bow she had promised herself she would fix that day and walked out the door, back to her job she hated, where she had to be among people she hated for being just like her.

How much longer would it be before she snapped, too?