A Rising Star

Flight or Fight

Of course the rings are meant to burst into flames. That had been the surprise part of my routine. Some flames to go with my flame hair. But that didn't mean she had to secretly get the Crew involved and commandeer my idea.

It is bad enough that Candid is trying to steal my best friend, did she need to steal my fire too?

I roll my shoulders backwards, rolling away the anger in the process. This isn't the time to get into a fight with Candid. That was what she wanted, but the best way to beat her is to remind her just how talented I am.

I step to the edge of the pier, shaking my head to prepare myself. In the background, I can hear a deep wolf whistle. Stud, I don't laugh, though. The music begins. The notes are long and slow.

I leap, soaring through the air before catching hold of the orange sash that is hanging between the two rings. I pull myself upwards a few feet, wrapping one the end of the sash around my ankle before falling backwards, my head arching backwards, as my hand clings to my free foot.

I spin in slow circles as the wind tickles my face, running across my skin in gentle goosebumps. The waves roll in time with the music and I know this is where I belong. The music quickens. In rapid succession, I am up the sash and taking hold of the first ring. I allow the beat to vibrate through me as I spin and turn and flip through the hanging ring. Moving in a frenzy with upbeat voice of the pop singer.

I fly through the sky again, catching hold of the second ring before flipping backwards, my legs gripping the inner ring of the circle before rolling myself upwards. I am a bird. I am free. No chains, no cage, can hold me as I soar through the air. This time when I dive to the other hoop, the one I left bursts into flame.

I vaguely hear the crowd gasp, but their reaction doesn't matter. They are not real. None of it is real. The only reality is the beating of my heart. I twirl around the outside edges of the hoop. Doing the splits, before flipping by body backwards and through my legs. No person can take my heart away. No person can capture my soul. I fly again, the hoop catching flame just as I leave its vicinity.

Back and forth I go: spinning, flying, twisting myself as the beat pumps through my heart. I backflip through the air as I catch hold of one ring, swinging myself far before doing a double flip to the other ring, shocking the audience as I grip it with just the front of my feet. I am impossible to catch. I am impossible to tame. I am wild. I am the sky. I am the stars.

I twirl up and down the sash again before catching on of the rings with the back of my neck, my hands reach around to grasp my feet as I swing the hoop in circles. I am fire.

My eyes meet Candid's. I don't know why, but the smirk on her face crashes me back into this reality. I am Bitter. I am a commodity. I am nobody. I swallow the anxious feeling away, as I slide upwards.

I can feel her laughing at me. I try to force the crowd to fade away once more. This is reality . . . The reality that the Viewers crave is false. I am living in a false reality. My legs are wrapped around the hoop when it happens.

Without warning, the ring that I am sliding through burst into flames. It only takes a glance to realize that the other one is on fire, as well. Time slows. In the breath that follows, I try not to panic—suddenly grateful that the Producers forced me to don a flame-resistant leotard for this performance—as I swing backwards, giving myself enough force to grasp the sash that stands unburnt.

My foot instantly tangles around the sash. But when I bow backwards, I smell burning cloth. A flame-resistant leotard, yes, but what I hadn't realized was that the lace skirt wrapped around my back wasn't so hardy. The sash caught flame and I smell the inevitable whiff of singed hair.

I decide I haven't quite graduated into fire powers yet.

With two flaming rings and a sash that is rapidly on the way to joining them, I do the only thing I can think of in that moment. I twist myself to the top of the sash and do a double back flip into the icy cold water to finish my performance with style.

In the depths of the water, I allow myself a few moments of reprieve. The water heals. It hugs every millimeter of my body. It comforts every spot in my soul. And for a moment, I am back in the inner reality. Then Candid's face flashes through my mind. My head breaks the surface

Almost instantly, I hear Stud's cries. "I can't believe that!" he says, jumping into the water to wrap me in a bear hug. "You were on fire. Like actually on fire!"

I push him away, before focusing my eyes on the target. When I haul myself onto the pier, I storm directly to her. She is staring at her nails as if she hasn't a care in the world. "What game are you playing, Candid?" I do not care that I am walking into the fight that she so obviously wanted. I am too enraged.

She continues to study her nails intently, not even trying to deny her role. "You pulled it off just fine, Bitter." I thought you liked a little competition. You certainly had no problem convincing Stud to try to make me stumble. I was just returning the favor."

"You were trying to burn me alive!"

Stud catches up to us now, his face is turned downwards. "Wait, you mean that wasn't on purpose?"

"No Stud. She tried to murder me!"

"Murder?" Candid laughs. "Don't be so melodramatic. You were over water. A couple second degree burns, at most and . . ." She sniffs the air. "Do I detect singed hair, perhaps?"

"I swear, if my hair—" I may have been half her size, but that hasn't stopped me from hurting her before.

Stud arms are wrapped around my waist now, as I push forward to grab a handful of her un-singed locks. "Come on Bit," he says. "You know how the Producers feel about physical violence."

"I bet they will have an earful to say to her about this little stunt" I mutter, a little of the steam going out of my voice. Stud relaxes, loosening his grip. I take that opportunity to flip over his arm and shove Candid face down into the ground.

"I am not going there with a pipsqueak." she shoves herself off the ground. I grab the ends of her hair and yank as hard as I can. "Seriously, the hair? Are you looking for a cat fight?"

She tries to punch me then, but I'm fast with unusual reflexes, so I just bend backwards until my head hits my ankles. Kicking her in lower jaw as I flip out of her reach.

"Little circus freak!" she says. I go to rush her again, but Stud's arms are back around my waist.

"I swear I'll forgive you for singing that duet if you let me kick her smug little ass."

The chuckle in his throat is low as his arms fall to the side. The last thing I hear is Stud muttering, "At least this night will be good for your ratings," before I slam my fist into Candid's stomach.