The Hunter Hates Me

...as my eyes surveyed all this...

Was there any thought passing my mind at that moment? Any joys, any regrets, anything? I'd like to say that there were, that my life was the best life ever lived, that I had as much fun as I possibly could, and that I lived every day like it was the last. But unfortunately I cannot. My life was never anything special. That was the only thing I thought when that dark hunter's crossbow was pressing against my life temple, my heart throbbing, my mind trying to accept the realisation that this was it. I was going to die. And I had wasted my entire life, waiting for something, thinking something would change, instead of me making the changes...like I should have. The hunter, who had said his name was Robin, wore a dark green cloak, two black eyes glowing inside his dark hood, a wooden and silver engraved crossbow settled near my brain, a sharp arrow waiting to be released like a tiger from its den, hungry for some carnage, the letters R.H. engraved on the side of it.

Reviews

[Francisco Mendoza]

I loved how you described the hunter... "two black eyes glowing inside his dark hood.."

I recently started experimenting with short stories, and your take is very interesting. Kudos