An Arrow shot

Cuts through Clouds
Pierces the Sun
High it Flies

Trail of Shadow
Paints the Ground
Black on Sand

Scratches the Cheek
Whizzes the Ear
Of

The Archer?
Lost
The Arrow?
Shot

To Alexandria

The Archer shielded his eyes from the sun as he watched the Arrow fly away. His chest tightened and his heart started thumping faster as he saw it shrink to a dot. Even though it seemed no longer there, the Arrow was still whizzing in his ear, persistent and urgent, oh urgent. The sound resonated through his eardrums and entered his mind in the form of words that were spoken with such urgency the Archer was nearly overwhelmed. Sweat started to pearl his forehead as he realized the words had to get out, one way or another. The Archer yelled, desperate, yet to no avail. He started running as fast as he could, feeling the words prickling his bare legs and longues as he sprinted further away.

When the Archer put a quill pen on a papyrus leaf, the words did not flood out, but only gradually trickled out of his body. It was a painstaking process, yet it was strangely fulfilling to see words form lips, tears, heartbeats, laughter, fatigue, anger, joy, images. Slowly slowly, the hand of the Archer wrote the story told by the whizzing whispers of the Arrow.
This is how it goes.

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