Week 13 Posting Brody Carter

It was a cold Friday night in Arrowson’s Archery. Country music was playing softly through a stereo in the corner of the room. There were 15 people in the store. Shooting lanes 1 through 15 all had an archer in it. There was a shooting league this particular night. I sat on a bar stool with no cushion on it. I was sitting right next to the cash register talking to the co-owner of the business, Rob Garrison. Rob is about six foot tall, and has a goatee. He and his brother own the archery shop. His brother, Michael, shoots in national level archery competitions. Rob does not shoot in competitions. I had never known this until he told me that night. He just sets up the bows for his brother. While we were talking, the archers’ were still shooting their competition. All of the sudden, I hear, “Oh, Shit!” This was uncommon during business hours, because there are “NO PROFANITY” signs everywhere in the shop. As I look to see what was causing the commotion, all of the other archers backed up from one shooter. Blood was everywhere, on the floor, on a support beam, and on the archer’s shirt and pants. The archer’s arrow had snapped when he released the arrow causing about a three inch section of his arrow to become lodged into his forearm. The two ladies in the shop were hysterical, and just about every guy kind of laughed and was surprised to see what had happened. The archer who shot himself eventually went to the hospital to get four stitches.