Guess who's back!... Don't count on regular updates, though. But for now, I hope you enjoy this one-shot!

I stand facing my target, body still, string taut. My arrow lies between my fingers, wishing to break free from the chain by which it is bound. Yet I hold it in place, holding ever tighter. Pain grows in my shoulder, but I resist. The arrow begins to waver, reacting to the pressure. I tell myself I am stronger than the arrow. The arrow is under my control. I decide when the arrow will fly, I decide where it will fly. This power is mine.

So why I am I suffering?

The tension rises, but the arrow fights back. It taunts me, expressing its desire to soar free. My vision focuses on the target ahead, refusing to see anything but. That target has become my purpose; I hit it and succeed, I miss and I fail. The arrow is my medium, as through it I find my cause. The target fills my consciousness. Everything from the distance it is away to the angle of my bow. Everything is calculated and accounted for. But still, the arrow fights me.

I pull back further, trying to force the arrow into submission. The string yearns for release, but my dictatorship continues. The bow is my tool through which I achieve my goal. I cannot let it control me. I must be the one to control it.

This is the way that I have led my life for sixteen long years. Everything I do must be immaculate, without flaw. Needless waste of energy or time is non-existent in my world. Entropy does not exist, as 'disorder' is a concept not understood. Everything I do has a purpose. Lacking purpose is akin to lacking a reason to live.

So then why does my arrow fight back? It is not sentient, and so lacks emotions and purpose of its own. It has no dreams, no ambition, yet I cannot deny the battle that I have begun. I counter the arrow's advance, pulling back even further. The string's screeches grow ever present, pleading me to surrender. My aim on my target affixes, as if crosshairs had appeared before my eyes.

At once, I release the arrow. I feel it fly away, rapidly approaching the target. The twang from the bow rings clearly through the air and harmonises with the piercing sound of the arrow. As the arrow reaches the end of its flight, I relax. My purpose was achieved. The battle was over. My breathing slowed, my vision returning to normal. This cycle would repeat itself, endlessly cycling as I progressed from one goal to the next.

Do I have an exam coming up? I should spend time studying. Are my notebooks nearly filled? Perhaps I should look for new ones. Is there something bothering one of my friends? I guess it is once again up to me to console them.

Is the school about to shut down?

...

It is rare that I come across an issue I cannot directly solve. No amount of logic can save the school. It is certainly a surprise, considering the mundane existence that I am. But should I really do anything about it? The most obvious course of action is to accept fate as it comes and finish my remaining two years. In the end, it has little effect on me. I can just as easily continue on my way living, with the same friends and family, and I can continue my studies with ease.

But not everyone uses logic as profoundly as I do. Not all hail logic as the solution to every problem. Few see logic as equivalent to a god. I am like my arrow, with a clear goal and a set way of seeing life. I am bound by the bow, expecting no change on my path to success.

But there are others who go about their problems in other ways.

Those that rely on emotion.

Those that work towards what they want to achieve, rather than what makes sense.

Those that despite the odds, despite adversity, despite being ridiculed and disregarded as an ignorant fool, continue on their path to achieving what they believe is right.

Those are who I envy. My life is linear, as the arrow flies.

But perhaps, just maybe, it is time for me to fly elsewhere.