March 2022

The author, also known as “the Misfortunate One,” learns an important lesson from the Vile Tree The story you are about to read is a story of idiocy, disaster; it includes attempts and confession, and a lesson. It is a story of a Fatal Arrow, a Vile Tree, the Use, the Mode, and the Means, and it is a story of a Misfortunate One. The story you are about to read is the story of the Flight of the Fatal Arrow, but more importantly, it is a story of how a little boy learned to think first. It is my wish that you will also learn wisdom from this tale. It was a nice summer day when the event occurred. It was hot, it was sunny; it was like any other summer day. It would have been impossible to guess that such a disaster was in wait. I, my brother, and two of my friends had all signed up for a hands-on activity making bows. We went to the Museum of Traditional Bows and sat down in front of a table. The instructor gave everyone a long wooden bow. Under the instructor’s guidance, and with our moms’ help, we tied the elastic bowstring to the bow and wound colored strings around the wood as decoration and support. When we were all finished, we were each given an arrow with a blunt, Styrofoam head. We were eager to shoot it outside in the park near the museum, so after we finished our bows, we ran outside to play. The arrows flew very well, and it was so fun watching them fly off far away. We launched the arrows at a low angle, and the moment we let go, the arrows whizzed away, flying parallel to the ground, and after a few seconds, they either hit something or dropped to the Earth. Then we would run to the arrow and shoot it back. But watching us play, Mom warned us to be careful, because the arrows could hit not something, but someone. It was then that the Accursed Idea came to mind. “Hey, since we can’t shoot arrows forward, let’s shoot them upward!” “Great idea!” the others all agreed. And so we, the stupid children who did not know the consequences of the decision we’d made, began shooting arrows up at the clear blue sky. At first, it seemed as if my suggestion was a brilliant one. Shooting into the sky couldn’t harm  anyone, and we didn’t have to waste energy in running back and forth to get the arrows. Also, the arrows could soar very high up into the air. We were having great fun watching how far they could go, pulling the long bowstring as far back as our short arms would allow and letting the string go, listening to the soft elastic twang. No one observed the ominous shadows of the trees surrounding us. It was then that the Misfortunate One picked up the Fatal Arrow. He fitted the Fatal Arrow to his bow and pulled the bowstring back. The wooden bow formed a perfect arch, ready to send the missile up into the clear blue sky. Then the string was set loose. The Fatal Arrow was now in flight, soaring up toward the shining sun. It pushed back all the air molecules that hindered its advance; there were none to block its path. The unsuspecting Misfortunate One looked up at the Arrow, admiring its flight. Up, up, and up the Shaft flew, but then it met the turning point. The Arrow stopped for a split moment, and then the weight of the head pulled it down, and, since the force of gravity was relentless and inescapable, the Arrow began its course of descent. The Fatal Arrow was plunging down to the Earth, but the Vile Tree had no wish for that to occur, and so it stuck out its Vile Branch and stopped the Arrow midair. The Arrow halted; the Tree’s normal force collided with the Earth’s gravitational force; the Arrow’s velocity was zero. In other words, the Fatal Arrow got stuck in a tree. Oh, reader—do try to imagine the horror of the Misfortunate One who had shot the Fatal Arrow! His only, brand-new arrow had gone to a place he could not reach. Was this to be their parting forever? Would he have to go home with a bow without an arrow? How much would he get scolded for his action? And alas, who was the Misfortunate One? It was me. It was me who had shot the Fatal Arrow, watched it reach its maximum height, observed its descent, and with terrible horror, saw it get stopped by the Vile Tree. It was me who had proposed the Accursed Idea, and it was me who was suffering the consequences. And what did I, the Misfortunate One, say? “Oops.” My brother Jay looked up the Vile Tree. “Hmm, I think we can get it out somehow . . .” Thus began our attempts to retrieve the Fatal Arrow from the Vile Tree. Chaos Our First Attempt was the Use of the Stick. The Stick is a very special instrument, and it is useful in many ways. It is used to play with, pretend with, hit with, fight with, attack with, defend with, swish with, swoosh with, poke with, jab with, push with, pull with, dig with, attempt to pole-vault with, and to reach things unreachable with. The Stick can be found almost anywhere, and, as we were standing near trees, Stick was of abundance. My brother picked up a long stick. He held it up and tried to poke at the Fatal Arrow. He couldn’t reach it, and since he was the tallest of us, it was evident that the omnipotent Stick would not be giving us any aid in our endeavors to retrieve the Fatal Arrow. Yet my brother’s creative mind  had another plan forming, which was the Mode of Climbing. The Mode of Climbing