For approximately six years I've been serving the Survey Corps. Few male soldiers compliment my beauty and intelligence however, they back away when discovering one of my substantial flaws as a woman. A secret I can't find myself to reveal to Captai...
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|Published July 9, 2016| Pacific Time.
Chapter III | ISOLATED CIRCLE
An endeavor for concealment -Razor Blade
A loud screech strains my focus from the forest ahead. I jerk my head behind me as my golden horse gallops full speed towards the safety of the trees. My emerald-eyes scream at the dreadful scene behind me. Crimson covers the earth with its warmth. Pouring rain impedes me from distinguishing the injured soldiers, but not enough to catch a human maneuvering around a ten-meter titan. His familiar physique triggers me to pull the reins towards the danger, towards my comrades and squad leader I learned to see as a father I never had.
No matter how much I urge Sam to rush, Zack seems to distance further away. Pleas of help from countless soldiers invade my ears as the abnormal catches Zack's body. He squirms but it's no use. I urge Sam to run faster. My name slips out from several familiar squad members in the area. Begging me to help them before they experience the crush of bones and prologue wails of tremendous pain.
My eyes dart everywhere for those voices but no soldiers lay standing. No titans are left but the one holding Zack near its repulsive mouth. Why can't I hear him speak or cry out? Why can I only hear those around me but not Zack's? I would not give up on this futile mission to save Zack. It's evident I'm too far away to even save him from the grasps of a titan in the first place. But there's always a possibility to save him, is it? Unfortunately, not. Even when I'm falling down the ground with an enormous weight crushing instantly my bones and organs, why couldn't I hear Zack's voice?
I pry my eyelids open to come in contact with an unlit room. 'It was a nightmare.' With my fingers I move the curtain to watch outside. With the little light reflecting the sky I peer at my golden watch placed securely on my right wrist. This glamorous golden watch was giving to me by Zack Henderson on my twenty-fourth birthday, two years ago. It reads 5:20 a.m. Wait----wrong. I rub the eye gunk I accumulated throughout the night before glancing at it again. 5:40 a.m. How did I end up reading the large handle on number four when it was pointing on number eight? I don't recall drinking. Probably I'm still a bit heavy-eyed.
My comrades' terrorized voices faintly flow in the air as I rest my back on the white sheets. Everything felt so real. The numbing on my thighs and a familiar wave of nausea consumed me for an instant as a sharp pain pierced on my lower abdomen. I can still feel the sensation. Hold on--- it's actually me. Not the affects of the dream. I remove the blanket off me to discern the expected week of the month. I wish someone out there could possibly invent a better sanitary pad than what we have in this century.
Groaning from the hassle of wearing now a notorious sanitary pad, I open one of the drawers to retrieve the little devil. With the sheets I clean up the mess between my inner thighs until leaving it a bit descent before I scurry towards the woman's shower stalls. At least, I'm the only one occupying this room for now.
