The Target

She stood 10 feet from her target, her bow loaded with a wooden arrow aimed for the little red circle at the centre of her homemade target. The wind kept on ruffling her dark brown hair, stray strands of hair blocking her peripheral view. But she couldn't care less. Her entire self was devoted on getting that arrow on to the bulls eye. She considered the bulls eye as all her problems and worries and she liked to keep on eliminating each one of them by shooting an arrow at it.
She let the arrow fly, watching it zip through the air.

THUNK.

The arrow found homage in the vivid red circle. As the arrow hit the target, she saw her mother lying dead in a freezer; her face devoid of any sparkle that it used to be brimmed with...

Cover page by @lixelight