Always for her

She moved slowly, like her muscles wouldn’t work quickly enough. She wiped a strand of red hair out of her brown vacant eyes, she looked like she was falling and struggling to focus. I wrapped her hands around mine, ruined and cut. Her hands where slow and unmoving as she watched up into my watery eyes. My stomach’s tossing; I look into her eyes as she smiles uncharacteristically,
“I’m sorry, Lilac.” She whispered croakily in small quick gasps, her voice stuttering and her eyes attempting to smile, her cracked lips began to bleed. I nodded,
“No, Hope. Stay still.” I say worriedly, propping her head up with ripped bloody jacket, pushing her shoulder down slightly but firmly. She nodded hesitantly; the bloody gorge in her stomach stopped her chest from moving in and out. I don’t want to cry, I am strong. I was strong. But seeing her dying face in my ruined arms, made my heart collapse. She was the closest thing I had to hope, and now she was dead. Her name, Hope. I knew once she smiled

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1. The Drill

 

She moved slowly, like her muscles wouldn’t work quickly enough. She wiped a strand of red hair out of her brown vacant eyes, she looked like she was falling and struggling to focus. I wrapped her hands around mine, ruined and cut. Her hands where slow and unmoving as she watched up into my watery eyes. My stomach’s tossing; I look into her eyes as she smiles uncharacteristically,

“I’m sorry, Lilac.” She whispered croakily in small quick gasps, her voice stuttering and her eyes attempting to smile, her cracked lips began to bleed. I nodded,

“No, Hope. Stay still.” I say worriedly, propping her head up with ripped bloody jacket, pushing her shoulder down slightly but firmly. She nodded hesitantly; the bloody gorge in her stomach stopped her chest from moving in and out. I don’t want to cry, I am strong. I was strong. But seeing her dying face in my ruined arms, made my heart collapse. She was the closest thing I had to hope, and now she was dead. Her name, Hope. I knew once she smiled at me in the court yard, that we where going to be closer than any of the other girls. But if I hadn’t of met her, she would still be breathing her heart would still be moving; her cheeks would still be rosy red. I killed her and destroyed her hope. This is my story:

 

 

 

 

Classes started ten minutes ago, I rushed through the cold school grounds and climbed over the fence, I perched myself on the highest point and looked around like a meerkat, I looked at the cold stone grey building that I was forced to call home for the last three years, the winter wind brushed my hair around, flapping it into my eyes, I jumped off of the wall.

 

My cold feet rubbed on the stiff harsh leather. I knew I was late, because the windows where begging to close. I never understood why this time of night was forbidden, but the consequences I understood. The training school was harsh place, for girls that there parents didn’t want, or had just died and didn’t care where their children went or how they ended up, even if that was dead. I never understood why I must die in a place so horrid. I often thought of my death when I lay awake in the cold gloomy dorms, I wanted to be comforted place, preferable where someone could hold my hand and promise that I’ll see them again, because they love me. But my hope was pushed away when I woke, up the following morning and the drill went.

 

My eyes opened blinking, they felt like sand paper. I knew that drill, it meant death. It was the sound of a fight; I changed into my jeans and my lace up rigid leather boots that lay under my bed. It was only training, but somehow some always seemed to end up dead. Not that the school cared, they wanted young fighters and that’s what they had. I brushed my hair and then tied it quickly in a bun, like my mother always did. My heart stiffened at the memory of her, but pushing the thought away, I pulled on my light blue button up shirt and my brown waist coat, placing my belt around my waist, slotting in my knife, I turned to my satchel and pushed in my bow and arrow. I washed my face in the small basin beside my bed; a girl with long red hair was watching me. Her brown eyes where almost confused and startled

“What?” I demanded rudely, grabbing my dirty brown satchel; the school invaded most of your privacy: no phone calls home, no letters but somehow I still had my bag, and nobody could take it from me.

 

I hurried down to the dining hall; the room smelt of rotten eggs and badly cooked cheese. I grabbed a small burnt roll, and headed for the exit, picking off the black edges. I had an hour until training began in the left field near the east wall. I shuddered at the thought of the east wall, nobody liked it there. It was always cold, even on the warmest of summer days; it had a gloomy feel about it. I darted for the small hidden court yard around the back of the school. Using a piece of broken metal I found I managed to create a gap in the looped barbed wire. Careful not to catch my top, as they would notice, I slithered through. I assume that was a plus side of being small and slim, it made me faster so I could glide through the air, although that didn’t make me elegant.

 

There was only a steep hill until I reached the local village hidden behind the large train station. I crossed of the bridge; the fumes filled my lungs, so placing my cut hand over my mouth I moved slightly quicker this time.

 

 Scrambling down the hill, I ran quickly, I always enjoyed the feel of the wind beneath my arms. I attempted to jump, hoping the wind would catch me and fly me away to a better place – which wouldn’t take much. Picking myself up off the dirty floor, and rubbing my knees trying to get rid of the faint grass stain, I glanced up at the church clock and smiled, I was in perfect timing.

 

I turned four lefts and two rights so I ended up right in the middle of the town square, around me there where four tables each covered with a blue and white checked table cloth, one filled high with seventeen apples, a stout woman with frizzy black hair was selling two apples to the woman in the pink bonnet with red lace bonnet, a tall man in a checked cap on my left who was selling newspaper, a man selling bunches of daffodils one pinned to his smart green shirt, I was tempted to spend my last pound but I resisted and nibbled on my cold bread and as I glanced at the woman in the corner selling fresh vegetables, I noticed something different. She held a little black book with red patterns covering the front, I recognised the symbol. It was a ribbon laced around an apple. My training school’s symbol, it was woven onto my old training jacket. I shook my head and continued moving looking and searching. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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