𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗔𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗗 : bucky barnes

ONE

I try to focus on the cold metal against my skin rather than the aching in my feet. I've been dancing for over six hours without a single moment of rest. My body screams at me to stop for even a moment, but I refuse to listen to it's pleas. I know if I stop, the real torture will begin. The adrenaline from that knowledge alone keeps me spinning along with the music.

One of the only supports keeping me from falling is my instructor, acting as a dance partner and complimenting my movement. His metal arm sends goosebumps across my skin each time the cold material makes contact with my waist. He has not made eye contact with me throughout the entire dance, and he misses beats frequently. I know he is trying to get me to adapt, scanning to see if I am able to fix a mistake before it happens.

There are seventeen widows scattered across the floor, and we move as one body, perfectly in sync. Paired with each one of us is a Superior to dance with. We move with grace, the only sound in the room being the ballet music, an unsettling rhythm for us to follow.

The past few days have been especially rough. Tonight is our graduation ceremony, and our instructors have not given us the slightest bit of mercy. We are being pushed further than our limits in a final attempt to weed out the weakest. Just in the last three days, seven widows have been eliminated from our class.

Madame B. stands unmoving at the front of the room, and her gaze is stronger than ever, constantly suffocating, begging to find a flaw. She is like a tiger stalking its prey, waiting for a moment of weakness to take advantage of. She craves violence. Blood.

I refuse to feed into her bloodthirst. My spins are on point, and I don't dare misstep. I remind myself that pain is nothing more than an attempt at limitation, and that the blood pooling in my pointe shoes is proof I'm succeeding.

A loud crack fills the room with urgency. It is unmistakably Madame B's cane hitting the ground - a noise I've grown to recognize anywhere. The cane, usually splattered with blood, is Madame's signature asset. She slams it against the floor countless times a day. This particular crack indicates for us to get into fourth position.

The class moves silently across the glossy wood floor, and we're almost instantly lined from shoulder to shoulder, one foot in front of another, awaiting instructions. Our Superiors line up behind Madame as she scans the room.

The room is quiet for a moment, until her cold voice pierces through the dead air.

"Tonight, you will all attend a graduation ceremony."  Madame speaks with strength, elegantly conveying her words with urgency. "I expect all of you to continue to be cut to perfection. Do not forget there is still time for your removal."

She pauses, looking around the room at us before speaking again. "Теперь иди." Now go.

With zero hesitance, the other 16 widows and I move in perfect sync to our sleeping quarters. The beds - thin mattresses on top of a metal frame - are rarely used for anything when we aren't sleeping. However, we have a brief moment to spend sitting on them before Blackout.

Most widows use this time to tend to their wounds before they get too serious. Anything to avoid being sent to medic. Superiors see that as a sign of weakness, and once you're sent to medic, you're practically gone. I have rarely ever seen anyone come back from it. Why keep a widow who isn't as strong as the rest?

I sit on my bunk and attempt to aid my feet, which have been rubbed raw from dancing all day. The girl who sleeps on the neighboring bunk, Anastasia, smiles at me.

"Graduation, then missions. All of our work has paid off." She says gently.

Anastasia was always an optimist, which was rare to come around. I've always been hesitant around her because of this. Any outburst of emotion was weakness, and I did not want to be seen as affiliated with her positivity. However, she seemed in control, easily fluctuating between beaming to calculated in seconds.

I try to mimic her smile. "Yeah. It'll be great."

We help each other take down our hair and talk about the ceremony until Blackout starts.

I try very hard to like all of our daily routine. I remind myself over and over that our Superiors know exactly whats best for us, however, it is very difficult to keep that in mind during Blackout.

It's the part of the day intended for our self reflection. Officers come around and hand out uniforms, and we all line against the wall and patiently wait for our turn for hygiene. Before we enter the bathroom, we're required to take the blue pills. I am not sure what they do, but I assume it must be important, because I can't recall a single time I've missed a dose.

After a Superior has ensured the pill is gone, you may enter the bathing quarters. You have 10 minutes to bathe, then 10 minutes to wash your face, brush your teeth, etc.

All the while we are silent, and the lights are set to a bright red color. As we bathe, Superiors do a thorough check of our sleeping quarters to ensure we have no contraband.

If you are not clean, properly dressed, with your hair braided by the time the lights are back on, you are punished. We are forbidden to talk about punishments if we make it back from them, so you don't know what they'll do to you if you slip up. Fear is a strong motivation for success.

As I finish lacing my boots, the lights flicker back to their original hue. On cue, the sound of heels hitting the floor echos the halls, indicating Madame B's approach.

Following behind her as she enters the room is five Superiors. I only recognize the one with a metal arm. The other four I have never seen before.

"There will be no dining hall tonight." Madame B holds a clipboard, scribbling on it as she speaks. "In it's place is your graduation ceremony. When I call your name, please stand."

As Madame lists off four names, I feel excitement bubble up in my stomach. We will finally be assigned official missions. We can finally repay the Red Room and all it has done for us. Serve a purpose for the first time.

The four girls raise from their beds, one of which being Anastasia. Madame orders them up front, and they are assigned to one Superior. She speaks to them directly as the rest of us wait patiently, until finally the four girls are led out of the room.

The next four girls are called. None of which are me.

The process repeats again, until there are only five of us left. But instead of calling four names, Madame lets out a 'tsk.' When she looks up from her clipboard, the disappointment in her eyes sends a shiver up my spine.

"We have one extra widow than needed. The Red Room has multiple graduating classes, all of which require 16 young girls. No more, no less." Her eyes scan the room, and we all remain still as statues. "You five are our lowest ranking widows of the graduating class."

My stomach drops. I always knew the other girls in this room fell slightly behind, but I never thought for a second I was one of them.

Madame's scowl slowly turns into a look of satisfaction as she continues. "One of you will not leave this room alive."