Random Writing

Made for This

The morning sunlight filtered through the window where it reflected off my grandmother's sword.
*************
The morning sunlight filters through the curtains where it finds
the polished metal of my grandmother's sword and casts flickering rainbows on
the walls. I follow the light with my eyes, even twisting the blade and
watching the colors dance on my walls.
A knock sounds on my door snapping me out of my daze. "Time to get
up, Kat."
I sigh but give in to the demand. It's no use arguing with him. He
may be my father but that doesn't mean he'll go easy on me if I'm late. If
anything, I'll be doing extra laps on top of my extra laps.
"Coming," I mumble, quickly sliding my feet into a pair of boots
and strapping the ancient sword onto my back. I exit the room quickly and close
the door silently behind me before making my way down the long corridor, toward
the training room.
Footsteps sound behind me and I turn, quickly pulling a dagger
from the strap on my leg.
"Woah hey calm down," the intruder says smiling uneasily at me.
His expression twists into one of confusion, then recognition. "You're-"
"I know who I am, thank you. I don't need others pointing it out
as well." I turn to walk away, sheathing the knife, but he runs to catch up
with me.
"Are you really his daughter?" he asks in awe, his breath leaving
him in puffs as he struggles to keep up with my fast pace.
"No I'm just some kid he picked up off the street." I use my most
sarcastic voice and speed up my pace until I am almost jogging.
The boy is running now. I guess it's hard for regular people to
keep up with the likes of me. Not that he can know what I am. Not that I'm
going to tell him. So I slow my pace until it seems to be comfortable for him.
We approach the training room and I can see that the doors are already propped
open. I curse to myself. He's already here.
Again I pick up my pace, this time making sure not to move too fast. I enter the room carefully quiet and take my place in line.
His back is turned, so it's hard to know whether or not he heard me come in late. But his shoulders visibly- at least to me- tensed as I filled the singular empty space. It is silent for a moment; the only audible sound is the rushing of the air vents and the soft breaths of my fellow classmates.
Everyone immediately snaps to attention at the slightest move from the man standing in front of us. He turns, ever so slowly, until he faces us; his gaze moves up and down the line twice before it lands on me.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I already know what he will say. "Three laps, everyone. Double that for those who were late." He doesn't mention names. He doesn't have to. As soon as those words leave his mouth eyes flicker toward me, curious and cautious. "Get to it!" he snaps when no one moves.
As one, twelve bodies begin moving, each one of us lost in our own world. I lose myself in the rhythm of running, my footsteps pounding through my body like the soft beat of a drum. Before long, I am at the head of the pack, though I started at the back. Realizing this, I slow my pace so as not to pull too far ahead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his gaze following my every movement, scrutinizing me like he would any other student. I turn my gaze forward again, blocking him out, and push everything I have into the run.
Three laps later, when I should be the only one still running, there are four others still with me. I briefly wonder if they were late or if I just passed them and didn't realize it.
"Enough," the man calls. I come to an immediate halt, turning to face him and standing with my arms behind my back. "Today, in honor of our new student," he turns his sharp gaze to me once again, "We will be pairing off and learning to work with a partner." He emphasizes the last word.
Of course today would be partner day. Of course he would pick the one thing I hate.
Again, moving as one, the other eleven students pair off quickly, choosing their friends to work with. "Hey," a voice says to my right. I turn to see the boy from the hall.
"What?" I snap, my eyes shooting daggers.
He sends me a sheepish grin, tucking one hand into the front pocket of his pants. "Wanna be partners?"
I shake my head. "No, not really." His face falls, and I turn to walk away. But I don't get very far before running face-first into a wall of muscle.
Stepping back, I raise my gaze until it meets his. "Going somewhere?" he asks, those green eyes that I know so well nearly burning with their intensity.
I shrug. "Maybe. Maybe not."
He chuckles, but it isn't friendly. "Perhaps if you do not wish to be partnered with this boy, you would prefer to be mine?" He grins when he says it. Like it should frighten me. Like I should be worried.
Again, I shrug. "Sure. It wouldn't really be fair otherwise."
I see the boy's expression go from one of fear of the brick man in front of me, to hurt that I should suggest he isn't good enough. I ignore him and stride toward the mat in the center of the room. Kicking my shoes off, I move to the far corner, standing ready and awaiting his advance.
Slowly, the man walks toward the weapons rack and selects a thick wooden staff in addition to the blade strapped to his waist. He turns back around and advances on me slowly, calculating, watching my every move.
A crowd has gathered around the mat, every student in the room, and some from outside of it, have come to watch father and daughter battle it out. They watch on, terrified expressions on all of their faces, though whether for me or for themselves I do not know.
The moment his foot touches the mat, I spring, leaping up to grab the dangling bar and pulling myself up into the rafters. The man's gaze shoots immediately upwards, though the crowd of students takes a while longer to catch on. I am moving too fast for them, though not quite enough to stump him, the man who made me what I am.
He squats, placing his staff on the ground and withdrawing two small throwing knives from their place strapped to his waist. Without straightening, he flings one toward me, and I instinctively leap to the next bar, away from the knife. It passes through empty air, where my chest just was.
Obviously he has no reservations about hurting me so I must drop mine. Father or not, this man is going down.
I rise out of my crouch and dance along the bars until I am directly over his head. He looks up, one hand reaching for his staff, the other prepared to throw his last knife at me. I drop and he raised the wooden stick, prepared to smack me to the side, but I am gone before he has the chance.
Relying on my superior strength and speed, I roll to the side once I hit the mat several feet away from where he stands, and unsheath my sword once I am on my feet again. Holding the blade tucked to my side, the way he taught me, I advance on the man before me. Though his expression is still one of murder, his eyes betray the slightest bit of fear. Fear I can use to my advantage.
I fake to the left, toward his dominant side, before bringing my blade around to the right and grazing it against his arm. Blood flows from the cut causing the crowd to gasp. They have never seen their teacher bleed. They thought he was unbreakable. Now they will see how truly wrong they were.
Lunging forward again, I catch him off guard and earn another hit, this time to his stomach. He recoils from the cool touch of my sword and switches hands, twirling his weapon in a menacing manner. Blood from his cut runs in a red stream down his arm loosening his grip. He readjusts, the movement so subtle no one else would have seen it. Then, he lunges.
It is not pretty, the way he runs at me. It is the form of someone who is beat and struggling not to be. I easily step to the side and he runs past, not even brushing against me. I take a few steps forward and leap upwards to pull myself into the rafters once more.
The beams shudder beneath me and I look down to see the man righting himself after running into the wall of the training room. A few students snicker off to the side, not even bothering to hide it when he turns to glare at them.
While he is still struggling to regain his bearings, I move so I am on top of him and, holding my sword up with one arm, I drop, landing square on his shoulders and knocking him to the ground. Again.
The crowd goes silent, every one of them waiting for what comes next.
I him down with one foot and press the tip of my sword into the place where his neck meets his shoulders. Blood blossoms up where metal cuts flesh and I feel him tense beneath my foot.
"I told you it would not be fair for anyone else," I say, "When not even their teacher can best me."
He jerks on the ground, struggling for any way to get free. I smile to myself. "This is what you made me for, father."
In one smooth motion I step away from the man on the floor, releasing him from his prison, and walk briskly out of the room, not once looking behind me.