I was bored; or should I say irritated with nothing to do. The sun bore hell holes into my back as I lazily drift around my neighborhood. My hair hung limply from the loosely held ponytail - the air hot, wanting to grab the life out of about irritating! The same shingled roofs and short stubbed house design; they bore dulled-out lightsabers through me. Troubling thing was, I liked this place. But, nonetheless, irritating.
Still drifting, I spotted a lawn filled with junk and items of the like. I paused, surveying the items: an old doll missing a glassy ice blue eye, a worn-out quilt, a poorly taken care of desktop, and a sea green blown glass vase from Venice. Then I saw it. It was black and red, and finely polished at that. Mahogany. It was made of mahogany, embossed with gold paint, complete with a set of thirteen shiny black darts with razor sharp tips. I looked at the price. Cheap, and lovely.
I mumbled, "S'cuse me ma'am. Mind if I take this novelty off of your hands?"
I held a crumpled five dollar bill in my hand. Her eyes crinkled as she nodded, extending the palm of her hand in my direction, eagerly accepting the money. Dropping the money in her extended palm, I lifted the heavy wooden board and heaved it home.
Back at home, I dug around in the garage, searching for a hammer and some nails. Recklessly stepping on the hood of my father's most prized possession, his glamorous silver 2010 Mercedes, I found a dusty box of nails and a rusty old hammer. The cicadas were humming away as I hacked dangerously at the board, attaching it to a telephone pole. Opening the leather case, I pulled out a shiny black dart and studied it intently,like a hunter stalking his prey. It sliced through the air, whizzing straight to the bullseye. The surge of triumph coursed through my veins, as I stared. A silent "..Woo," escaped my lips. Torpedoing through the air like a shark after its victim, throw after throw, I made it straight to the bullseye. I looked in the leather case. One dart. Left behind, apart from the others and their fiery death. I stood tall, poised to strike, then threw it with lightning force. This time in something. Its furry brown body twitched. Twitched like a half-dead fish gasping for water. Its body rose and fell like the ocean tide. I stared, shocked. A small pool of blood seeped down the telephone pole, dripping slowly like rain on a windowsill. The next thing that happened was absolutely hilarious. It sprung to life, running rabidly up the telephone pole. Then it turned around and looked at me with its beady eyes, pulling out the dart and throwing it in my direction. I laughed.
Since then, I have hit some birds. They do not like me. And neither do I like them. As for squirrels; they despise me. Those beady eyes like to torture me. But hey, I really don't care.