messo50

She draws the feathered end to the corner of her mouth, a feeling that she has felt so many times before, although no smile escapes her emotionless face, deep inside she is singing, She takes a deep breath, air filles her lungs, cool and clean, the final breath before the release, She sights down the shaft, she loosens her hold on the string, the rough texture rubbing her skin, the string snaps forewards, The arrow leaves her bow, flying throught the air, slicing the wind in half, moving faster than the eye can see, She watches breathlessly, as the speeding arrow enters the soft fabric of the target, entering the small middl

Prolouge This story is dedicated to our 6th, 7th and 8th grade class of 2008-2007. Both me and messo51 (Hailey) will be writing this. LONG LIVE THE MIDDLE SCHOOL MUSKATEERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Mary P.O.V. Slowly the 14 of us filed into the huge, almost empty, room where we had met each day we had spent at this camp. At one end was a stage and the rest of the room was a flat wooden floor with two huge doors on the front and left. Today would be our biggest challenge yet. Who are we? We are the bonded group that have traveled from the Lower East Side to the far-out sandbar of a beach at Cape Cod. We are Evan, David, Jamie, Julia, Tyler H. , Tyler