Prologue:
"You are not going, and that is final!"
My father's fist sliced through the air, eventually colliding with the dining room table, making it shake underneath the force.
I swallowed, unsure of how to approach his fury. He was never usually this furious with me; my older brother Steve, however, he was slightly more aggressive with...
But not me.
Not Dayna.
He was always gentle, kind, considerate. Aware of my feelings and generously coaxing them whenever possible.
I stared motionless at him, at his black hair greying at the sides, at his clenched jaw visible through the skin, at the thick veins protruding out of his forehead like someone had cellotaped them there as a ploy of good humour.
The shudder that ran through me was unlike anything else I had ever experienced; disgust. I was horrified to see him so angry – the rage inside of his distorted his handsome face, turning him ugly, beastly.
He was a savage tiger, preparing himself to pounce on me and rip my flesh into chewable strips.
I parted my lips to speak, but my tongue froze helplessly, clinging to the roof of my mouth in desperation.
Now, I was afraid.
"Dayna, you are not going to fight in some sick tournament. You could be killed! I absolutely, one hundred percent forbid you!" he roared, this time knocking the Chinese vase one of my nomad Aunts had sent him for Christmas cleanly onto the floor, where it smashed into irreparable pieces.
He really had to find a healthier way of dealing with his emotions; the way he was going we'd be out of cutlery by Easter...
"I am," I stood up from the chair I had been slumped in, standing tall against the rabid monster in front of me, "It isn't your choice. I am going to New York, and I am fighting in the Iron Fist tournament. And heck, I'm going to win,"
I smiled as I stammered through the last line; the sheer glory that would be sprinkled over me if I was victorious would be far too good to pass up. I could already see the riches; the fortunes winning would open the doors to!
"Dayna – "
"No." I pressed a hand lightly on his chest, and narrowed my eyebrows, "I am going. No more. No more of this nonsense. Now, are you driving me to the airport, or am I to catch a cab?"
Silence reigned for a few moments. I shifted uncomfortably, the air radiating a dismal misfortune, as though someone had just died.
Finally, after the quiet appeared to last for far too long, my father let out a sigh, and withdrew his car keys from his trouser pocket.