Fire's Last Descendant

Chapter 14

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<pre> ••• Chapter 14 •••</pre>

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How many times my head feels like it hit the mat: infinity.

How many times my head really hit the mat: ten.

How many times Chase caught me off guard: seven.

How many minutes I've spent ogling over him: surprisingly, one.

"Really, Gabby, get your head in the game," Chase says, pulling me up to a standing position. I experience a small moment of deja-vu, and remember Sam telling me to defend myself.

The rest of the day yesterday had passed by slowly. It wasn't interesting or anything like that, which is probably why it was so boring and slow. Sam had made some sort of a bacon-turkey-ham and bagel sandwich for all four of us, which tasted really good. After lunch, we all sat in the main room and watched recorded episodes of Wipeout for about four hours. In the middle of the third episode's qualifier round, Sam had snuck out without us noticing, probably to take that walk Chase said she took every night before dinner.

Thankfully, I dreamed of nothing that night. No alsynth, or talking cat, or any sign of a gashadokuro, nothing. Sam had woken me up early that morning to train. I'd thrown on the same violet sweatpants and light violet tank top I'd worn when fighting the alsynth. As soon as I'd left my room and stepped out into the hallway, Chase had grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to the training room. Within five seconds in the training room, Chase had knocked me to the ground.

"It's not a game," I began to say, "so stop calling it that. And if you even want me to have a chance to defend myself, you'll put away that sword you keep swinging."

"Fine, then, lil' miss bossy-pants. And I'm not swinging it, I am sweeping it. Like a broom." He flipped he sword in his hands and made a sweeping demonstration while saying, "Sweep, sweep, sweep, broom, broom, broom."

I roll my eyes and fold my arms. "Anyhow, in case we battle any human-like creatures, I'm trying to show you that if someone sweeps his blade under neath your knees, you need to jump."

"Then why are you doing it at my feet?"

"I was hoping you'd get the jist and jump, which you haven't. Now get ready." I put my arms down and get ready for my head to hit the cross-linked polyethylene foam mats. I know what to expect now that I know what he's doing, but I am one-hundred percent positive that the blade will hit my ankles, causing me to stagger back, lose balance, and hit the mat. In elementary school, I wasn't the best at jump rope, or Snake-in-the-Hole, or any jumping game, even though I took gymnastics.

He stands about four feet away from me. He quickly bends and holds the sword with both hands like a golf club. He swiftly sweeps the sword towards my ankles. As expected, I stagger, then lose my balance, then fall. My head bounces back up on the mat, and it hurts.

"Really? I even told you what I was doing," He tells me with an exasperated sigh. I push myself up on my feet and reply, "I'm not a jumper."

"But Sam told me—"

"Yeah, I sucked at all of the beams and bars. Point is, I'm not a jumper," I confess before my bottom lip with my two upper front teeth.

"What about Snake-in-the-Hole? That little playground game that kids play with the jump-rope?"