The Archer's Aim
The Archer's Aim
Lara stood in the forest clearing, her longbow drawn taut. The target, a straw
bale 70 meters away, was barely visible in the dawn mist. She was competing
in the regional archery tournament, her last chance to qualify for the nationals.
Her fingers, calloused from years of practice, held the arrow steady. This shot
would decide everything.
Lara’s bow was a recurve, crafted from laminated wood and carbon fiber, its
40-pound draw weight perfect for her strength. She’d spent months tuning it,
adjusting the string’s tension and the arrow rest for precision. Archery wasn’t
just skill—it was physics, patience, and focus. Wind speed, arrow weight, even
her heartbeat could shift the shot.
The crowd hushed. Lara exhaled, aligning the bow’s sight pin with the target’s
center. Her coach’s words echoed: “Trust your form.” She’d trained for years,
shooting thousands of arrows, perfecting her stance. But her rival, Ethan, was
flawless today, hitting bullseyes with mechanical precision. Lara needed a per-
fect 10 to tie him.
A breeze stirred the trees. Lara adjusted her aim, compensating for the cross-
wind. Her muscles burned, but she held steady, releasing the arrow. It flew, a
blur of fletching, and struck the target’s edge—a 9. Her heart sank. One shot left.
Ethan smirked, confident in his lead.
Lara nocked her final arrow. The pressure was crushing, but she closed her eyes,
visualizing the shot. She saw the arrow’s arc, felt the string’s release. Opening
her eyes, she drew, aimed, and let go. The arrow soared, piercing the bullseye
dead center. The crowd roared—a 10. The score tied.
In the shoot-off, Lara and Ethan faced a single target, 90 meters away. Lara went
first. Her arrow hit the inner ring, another 10. Ethan’s shot wavered, landing a
9. Lara won. She lowered her bow, trembling. Archery wasn’t just about hitting
1
the target—it was about mastering doubt. As she stepped onto the podium, Lara
knew: her aim was true, and the nationals awaited.