Spinning Arrow

I hopped over the peanut brittle splinters and came face-to-face with an antique wooden prize wheel resting on the back counter. At its very top, a stiff leather flapper tongue was wedged tightly against an iron peg. I tilted my head sharply ninety degrees to the left, staring through my round lenses. Gentle spinning was out of the question. I planted both boots, swung my miniature axe up with both hands, and slammed the blunt wooden heel sideways into the nearest spoke. Whirrr-clack-clack-clack! The heavy disk spun into a blur of bright numbered wedges, buzzing loudly until it slowly clicked to a halt on the grand prize star. I locked into place with both arms flung wide in a silent, vibrating freeze.