Camp Regal

If I Drown

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" Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to do anything on which it is poured. "
— Mark Twain

I lose myself in the ire.  It's the only way I can escape reality, if only for a few minutes.

"Next combat evaluation,"

Ms.Young's silky voice permeates the combat room.  Her name fit her to the letter.  She's twenty years old with brilliant sandy skin.  Her dog tags shimmer as they hang from her slender, cinnamon hued neck. Golden strands compliment her curly brown hair, framing pristine chocolate eyes.  She's an active Seraph, the youngest to ever be deployed at a school to teach.  Everyone questions how she could be that good, but her replies are always professional and elusive.

I'm in a large room with wooden flooring and an elongated mat in the middle.  There are rows of chairs on each end of the room for watching the fights — or, uh, combat evaluations.  Yea.

I stare eagerly on the other side of the room, my eyes ravenous.  Please be a challenge this time, I plead silently.  There aren't a lot of kids in 8th period, or any period for Junior Seraphs Corps now that I mention it.  A lot of seats are unoccupied.  There's some familiar faces I've only talked to once or twice, then Lexi.  She'd just fought, sitting next to me with that satisfied look she has when she gets her way.  Those unique eyes could fool anyone, she had the hands of a professional boxer.  I'm too lost in thought, but I can feel her smiling at the side of my face.

"Good luck, scrub."  Her petite hand shoves my bicep, and I'm brought back for a second.  "What?"

"Clyde,"

My head is set aflame at the sound of her voice, like a trigger.  Ms.Young looks up at me from her seat in the back.  Her gaze then shifts to a kid with shaggy brown hair and emerald eyes.

"And Xavier."

This kiss ass, I think to myself.  Xavier comes from a prestigious line of military jarheads, and always reported to Ms.Young whenever he saw us doing something wrong.  Typical perfect guy, chiseled jawline and freckles.  I remember when he caught me using my phone in the middle of a lesson, and suddenly became the loudest student to ever enroll.

I smile to myself, and slip off my leather jacket.

My eyes catch Young, she has a worried expression on her face.  The infamous look just before someone gets their ass beat.  I slowly rise to a stand.  A smug grin curves Xavier's mouth, and he mirrors my movement.  I'm slightly surprised at the smile, but then again I'm not.  A jerk like him, overconfidence is his forte.

We meet each other on the mat.  "Don't worry, scrub.  I'll make this quick, wouldn't wanna—"  My ears tune out his obnoxious voice as he walks up.  I take in features, slightly taller than me with a bulbous nose.  Now I'm staring at his offensive arboreal eyes, and close my own.

I need this.

All I hear in the darkness is Young's calm voice,
"Start."

My eyes flare open and a fist is already crashing towards my face, I lean back and it misses by a mere inch.  Without thinking my knuckles slam against his chin, then once more in riposte.

"Ugh!"  Xavier bellows and stumbles back.  I step forward, fists like heavy waves crashing onto a shore.  He dispersed a fist into my space again, scraping the skin off my jaw.  Before I could register the blow, my left fist rings his jaw and cuts off oxygen.  Air suddenly left him, and his eyes subtly roll back, losing consciousness.  "What..?"  Escapes his mouth, along with air.  He nearly fell, knees buckling against each other.