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He’d died once already, what was a second go-round? And really, what did he expect, working with Slade Wilson? Dirty bastard had left him bleeding out here in this old shack, someone’s abandoned hunting cabin. Sink or swim, Greenie, he’d said.
At least he’d closed the door on the way out. That way he wouldn't freeze to death before he bled out.
Oliver let his head fall to one side. Let was a nice way of saying he couldn’t stop his head from falling to one side. From this angle, the puddle of blood looked- well, if you were describing the amount of blood on the outside of your body as a ‘puddle’, it wasn’t anything but bad.
So that was where he was at. The Green Arrow, hero of the little guy, cheated death once, only to die again all alone, and all because of a lucky shot.
He was supposed to be the one making lucky shots. That was his whole thing!
Well. Guess everyone’s luck runs out eventually.