The Flu-Flu

An arrow with large feathers a flu-flu is made not to go far
With a rubber tip the hunter can shoot at birds and animals
And not worry about the arrow getting lost
The boy was just such a hunter
A stalker with a bow and arrow
Like the Indians in the comic books he so enjoyed
In the woods one day hunting
He spied perched on a branch of a tree
A chipmunk a cute little ball of fur
The boy looked at the tiny animal.
Can I hit it?
Confidently he answered himself
Sure
He drew back the bow string and let the flu-flu arrow fly
It smacked the innocent chipmunk killing him instantly
The boy hurried to the dead animal and stood over it
Once cute and chattering and alive
It now lay motionless and still on the forest floor
Dead
Life sucked out of its warm body by the action of the boy
He should have been happy with the kill
But he wasn’t he was sad
He took the flu-flu arrow and broke it over his knee
He buried the chipmunk and sold his bow
He never went hunting again.