“I missed again,” I said in a frustrated voice to my father. I missed the only arrow target that stopped me from meeting my father’s level of mastery. My father and I had a bet when I turned ten, that if I shot my arrow at that target he would give me what I needed to reach his level of mastery. But this wasn’t just any random target. This target was on the top of the tallest tree in our training site. It stretched to the heavens above and was painted with our nations traditional colors of orange and red. It had a single red circle where the arrow needed to be shot, it required precision and practice to even position the arrow correctly at the point. To help me my father and I were doing our typical morning routine; we’d wake up every morning at the same time as the sun would rise to go out in the dusty fields of our rural village. For as long as I could remember it had been the two of us. My mother passed away while giving birth to me so it had always been my father and I against the world. I was his little girl though not so little anymore and he was my knight in shining armor. See my father was the most respected general of all the villages in the neighboring areas. He was known as the gentle lion, for his kindness yet courage.  I was known as the rebellious cub for often challenging the village norms. Ever since I was old enough to hold a bow and arrow my father started to train me and soon enough I became the best shooter in all of the village and the only girl at that. I can remember the harsh criticism I received from peers, men and elders alike. They’d say a girl had no right to being doing a man’s job.  The words they would spit and attack me with hurt more than any other wound I had while training. I was the only girl there so the boys my age including the instructors would try their best to make me feel suffocated.  It got to the point where I’d leave the group training and hide until it was over. By the time it was evening and everyone left, my father would be the last one to come pick me up. He’d find me a block away from the training site. He would then tell me to stand up and pick up the bow and arrow I had neglected. That’s when I’d start to argue and break into tears. But my father listened until my eyes had no tears left to cry. My father would comfort me at this innocent age of understanding the way this cruel world worked. I was only ten but my father would take my hand and say this, “My beautiful daughter, you are much stronger than you believe.” He’d go on with passion and explain why the men around me acted the way they did. He’d say that a man’s ego was the most fragile yet important thing to him and when it was threatened that he’d attack without thinking first.  There harshness towards me only made me stronger. But I had one friend, my best friend Aarzam. We met when we were younger after I stood up for him when some boys from our village were throwing rocks at him. He was an outcast like me. Aarzam was from the northern part of our village so he had a different dialect. The north was place where most rebels came from. Through all the suffering we went through during training we became closer. We were two outcasts that survived only through each other.  Now at eighteen years of age I am the first and only girl in my village to be part of the junior army but sadly without Aarzam. Aarzam didn’t pass the final example but as a true friend still supported me.  Soon as the innocence of dawn became the lethargic hours of a hot afternoon and my father and I parted ways. I was on my way to meet Aarzam at the village square. It was an area filled with people and small shops that shaped the environment. People from different walks of life all came here to sell their goods and trade what they had earned. As I lost myself in my thoughts someone bumped into me. We collided and both fell on the ground. I looked up but before his face even reached my gaze I saw a large crescent shaped birth mark on his left wrist and knew it was Aarzam.
” Wow, your part of the junior army but you are as clumsy as clumsy can get, how you made it is still a mystery to me,” Aarzam said as he laughed.
“Shut up,” I said as I elbowed him in the side.
“So what’s in store for us today Aarzam?” I said.
“I don’t know let’s enjoy our youth while it lasts,” Aarzam said jokingly.
As the day stretched along, Aarzam and I shopped, ate, and played local games at the town square. Soon it was time for the sun to return back home and I as well. Aarzam and I were sitting at the camp fire in our old training site and that’s when it happened.  Why was it that the cold night air had felt different tonight?  For as long as I could remember, our late night conversations were filled with laughter and jokes but tonight was different.  It seemed that finally our immaturity had left us and that we craved something more.  Aarzam was first he started speaking about his dreams, fears, and passion then I did. I went on and on until our world went silence and our eyes connected. And that’s when my heart sealed its promise and skipped a beat. My emotions fluttered, I had just fallen in love.
The next day, I left home extra early and was determined to hit the target. I left before my father woke up and headed outside. The air smelled like rain and the sky was a mixture of blue and black it wasn’t dawn yet, it was still the tired hours of night. I told myself I had three chances to get this right and if I didn’t the third time I’d go home.  The first time, I missed. The second time, I missed. Now it was the third time. Before I shot my arrow, I took a deep breath and thought about everyone I loved. I locked my eyes on the target and pulled the arrow. I closed my eyes and heard the arrow cut through the sky.  I slowly opened my eyes, I made it. After eight years of trying I had finally hit the target. I ran home as fast I could to tell my father but when I opened the door I walked into a nightmare. The scene before me was this, my father’s body with blood surrounding him and single arrow in his chest.  In front of my eyes stood the man who did this with the bow still in his hands.  The man had a blue mask on that was the symbol of the rebels from the north. Before I had to the chance to react or even move the man ran out and escaped from the window. I was frozen but my father with all his might called out my name. I rushed towards him and held him in my lap.
“Father, don’t worry I’ll get help, I’ll -, “
Before I could even finish my sentence he said,” No there’s no time now just stay still.” I had no strength left to argue and he had no strength left to say anything else. In that moment I held him close and I could feel his blood painting itself on my clothes but I didn’t care. I wanted to tell him so much, about the target I finally hit and Aarzam, but couldn’t. And it was in that very moment that I lost him. I felt the last breath escape from his lips and his spirit leave his eyes. My hero, my protector, my knight in shining armor, the only other man I loved, my father was now gone. I held him tightly and drowned myself in his lifeless eyes. My tears flooded over his face and I shook back and forth rejecting reality. I was no longer the strong young woman known to others, now I was a scared little girl who only wanted her father. I sat in that position for two hours until the hot midday sky lightened up our small home. It was then that my old training instructor found me and my father. Without any questions he understood the situation and arranged the funeral for later that day. It was the late hours of afternoon and sadness had stretched minutes into hours. Everyone in the village gathered as small prayers moved along their tongues.  I was the only known family member so I stood in the front by myself clear for all to see. I felt nothing but my heart’s ripping itself in shreds as its pain outweighed anything else in this temporary world.  After the main prayer was finished everyone stood. They all stood, rich and poor, old and young, man or woman, to remember the man who fought for those who couldn’t defend themselves, to remember the man whose kindness melted even the hardest of souls. As I walked up to give my final comments to everyone who had gathered to remember my father I heard something. It was footsteps coming towards me and so I turned my head to see who it was. It was that man with the blue mask the symbol of the rebels. Before I had the chance to saying anything his arrow was already cutting through the sky with my chest as its target. And that’s when I saw it on his left wrist a large crescent shaped birthmark.