I was tired of working with trainers; Hudson had ensured that of me if anything. So I headed over to the shooting range and picked up a bow and arrow, staying by myself. The trainer at the station began to walk towards me but I ignored him and instead worked on stringing my bow, wanting to just work by myself for the last hour I was there.
Practice. The arrow landed itself in the far edge of the target. That was ok; I hadn’t worked with a bow and arrow since I was eighteen, so I was going to be a little rusty.
I stretched out my right elbow before notching another arrow, cracking my neck to one side then another and then bringing the bow up and pulling the string back to my ear. I closed one eye and focused, then let a second arrow fly. This one made it within six inches of the center, so I smiled and took out another arrow from the quiver.
I’d always been told I was too resentful, that I had a hard time of letting go of things that had been done wrong to me. What are you going to do with all that anger? I’d been asked once. You’re not loud or explosive. What happens when it gets to be too much?
I pictured people’s faces on the target. A boy who had made fun of me in high school got an arrow to the forehead. A man who had mugged my sister when we were sixteen got one to the cheek. Izara got one in her eye. I smirked and aimed again, and then my sister appeared.
The arrow went flying past the target and my smile vanished. Etta had trained here six years ago. Probably had used this station.
The trainer shouted something at me and I aimed again, seeing just the bullseye this time. I shot and the arrow lodged itself just above the red circle in the center.
That was the first time I’d thought about Etta in a while. Sure, I’d mentioned her in conversation, but I hadn’t really thought about her since the night before the reaping. How had she trained? What had she done wrong? Well, that was obvious, I thought. She put her trust in the wrong people.
Never trust anybody, and her murderer appeared on the target. Bullseye.
