Lorraine Anderson
Major Lorraine Anderson...
The look of an innocent,
yet so dangerous.
Daughter of the General Army of Queen City.
While Youths in her age play with guys she plays with guns.
Real guns.
A stunning, hot, humble, dange...
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I stood in front of our home, panting, my dress squeezed my shoes broken. My feet dragged themselves on their own accord before I could go through the back door the front door swung open. My Dad had that creepy smile on his face, his eyes sparkled with mischief. I gulped the huge lump of spit and tried to calm down both my head and stomach which was turning and churning.
"Major Lorraine."
I cursed mentally, I'm dead, he was in general mode, which meant I was as good as dead.
"Get ready for the parkour in 10min. Clean up, quick. HOP, HOP, HOP. " I dashed for my room ready to change into something.
My leggings and Bra were matching, as I wiped off my face and took some pills I kept on praying that he would take it easy on me.
I ran outside just to be met with my dad sitting on a chair drinking Lemonade, he pointed towards the board.
30 rounds
Was written boldly on the blackboard, he smiled maliciously at me.
"START, you have an hour. Or... you'll do 4x the more without Breakfast." He flipped over his stone old hourglass. Yes, you guessed it he still smiled at me like a perverted creep.
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Slide, jump, slide, sidestep, roll, dodge, fall back, duck, jump, duck jump, swing, grip, swing, shrink, breath, this had been my final round but he seemed to still have other plans for me. I followed his Gaze to the shooting range. Finally, I could feel a smile take over my face.
"Heavy Bag, 30 min straight." My smile dropped immediately as my gaze narrowed on the punching bag close to the range.
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I sat on the grass as my sweat-drenched every part and angle of my body. Yes, even down there. I was handed some Water, although my stomach felt like a pit I downed it all within seconds.
"Let's go have Breakfast, Steph is waiting."
I glared at my father's back as he slowly retracted himself from the scene. My Dad was in his early fifties, yet he merely looked thirty years old. I wasn't exaggerating, it was true. Dad was blessed in any way possible, he stood at good 6'2 feet, muscular body, midnight black hair just like mine, vibrant Black eyes that could kill. Literally.
I, on the other hand, stood with my proud 5'7 feet, Long black midnight hair, vibrant turquoise eyes which I got from my Mother. A figure to die for, I had curves in the right places, I was very worked out, I didn't exactly have a six-pack but I have a flat stomach that I am very proud of. My tighs aren't muscular but I don't have too much fat on them either... at least I don't think so, Dad doesn't agree with me though.
