Target Practice

Slipped inside through the door flap, leaving the freezing yard behind. The living room was hushed and dark. Prowled straight to my secret notch beneath the baseboard. My loot was waiting. I dragged out the heavy brass ring and wedged it upright into a seam between the oak floorboards—a narrow golden archway. Stepped back four paces into the gloom. Calculated the line. I set the glowing green bead before my boots, drew back my curved right hook, and delivered a swift, deliberate flick. *Click.* The tiny beacon glided silently across the polished grain, shooting clean through the brass hoop with a faint *ting*. Darted forward and pinned it beneath my claw. Clean shot.