MicroHorror

Emily closed her eye and focused on the colored target across the field. She stood strong and held her breath for concentration. Her bow was a lot more technical that the ones she had seen on television. It was made of wood with a camouflage-patterned handle. Its arrows were made of metal, perfect for slaying dragons. One arrow to the heart and the dragon would drop dead. No longer could princesses rely on knights in shining armor to rescue them. This princess had to rescue herself. Mother would be out at work when she returned to the castle and she would be alone with the dragon, which would play its secret games with her, touch her, smell her, breathe on her with stinking breath until Mother came back. The dragon held them prisoner.

She would lie awake at night (telling herself it was because there was a pea under the mattress) and listen to the roaring downstairs. Mother would cry as plates smashed on walls. The dragon would thud upstairs to its lair, leaving her to tidy its mess before tearfully retiring up to the dungeon. She opened her hand and let the arrow fly. It hit the yellow center and she let out her breath.

The instructor rested his warm hand on her shoulder. “Excellent work, Emily. You’re a natural.”

She looked up and returned the smile.

As she stepped silently through the front door she could hear the dragon stirring in the living room. It had lain in waiting all afternoon, drinking, ready to strike when she returned to the castle. She slipped off her shoes, lifted up her bow and slotted an arrow into place. She tiptoed through, holding her breath, and took aim.