The outdoor air was becoming increasingly brisk as the summer faded into winter. The last of the foliage had hit the ground, leaving a blazing trail of warm, Autumn colors. Nights of open windows were gradually being replaced by ones under heavy comforters. Although, the wind still held light laughter while the great, bright orb in the sky took refuge behind a barrier of whipped clouds.
There was a dirt path in The Sea Turtle’s backyard that lead to a forest. Although, at the time, the trail was unidentifiable due to mounds of crimson, golden, and chestnut colors spread throughout the area. A single, long, empty quiver hung from it’s strap on a nearby branch and a single foam target blocked the path.
The Goldador stood a ways away, an arrow notched in the string of a bow. I stood to the side as he released the tension, the arrow gliding past the foam target and into the sea of leaves, creating a wave like sparks of a fire.
He let his shoulders drop with sigh, the bow in his hard with a slackened grip. Indifference covering his features with a half smile as he shrugged in defeat. The Goldador trudged forward and The Sea Turtle and I broke from our on-looking places. We split up, plucking dark colored arrows from under an ocean of leaves and congregated together, counting aloud.
“We’re one short.” The Sea Turtle remarked. And so we searched again, jumping logs and kicking leaves until the Autumn air grew teeth and began to nip at t-shirt clad arms. Deciding to turn inside, The Goldador gripped the foam target while The Sea Turtle scooped up the now mostly full quiver and the bow.
“It’s like we’re coming back from the barricades,” I mused to myself, before absentmindedly starting, “Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?”
“It is the music of the people who will not be slaves again! When the beating of your heart-“ The Sea Turtle joined.
“Echoes the beating of the drums!” The Goldador bellowed, and together we shreiked,
“There is a life about to start when tomorrow cooommmeesss!”