There are archers in rooftops 270 meters to my east
They account for the wind
They feel the humidity as the air condensates on the back of their neck
Crawling down their spine
They inhale
Let out their carbon in a slow steady sigh
Their target is at the door to my dorm room

My door creeks open
The archers let the cord to their payment slide down the mountainous ridges on the end of their fingers
One archers whispers "for freedom"
The arrow soars to the window that lets light pour onto my covers

Glass shatters
The thud of a body falls to the floor
I sit up
A thousand grasshoppers replace my bones
The hairs on my arms are attentive

The lights illuminate my illusions
I stare at my own body on the floor
I fall to my knees
Meeting my eyes to the dead stare so familiar in mirrors
Finally
This monster is dead

A ****** arrow stands from his forehead
From his toes to his hair, he falls to ashes
The broken window letting in a breeze that vaccums the ashes from the room
All that's left
An arrow stuck to my floor

The arrow penetrates a photograph
I lift the picture to take a closer look
A hole covers the eyes
What gives it away is the smile
The complection

Finally
This monster is dead