A Hero?
HOW CAN YOU CLAIM TO BE A HERO IF YOU WOULD PUT YOURSELF BEFORE ALL OTHERS. IF, WHEN MADE TO FIGHT AGAINST THE ONE YOU LOVE, YOU WOULD FIGHT TO THE DEATH IF THE NEED CAME. IF YOU COULD KILL YOUR FAMILY WHEN THREATENED BY THEM. IF YOU WOULD GIVE EVERYTHNG TO BREATHE A MOMENT LONGER. A SINGLE BREATH MORE.
HOW COULD YOU LIVE LIKE THAT?
I AM THE BEAST, MY BLOOD BEATS STRONG AND WARM IN THESE VEINS. I CRAVE COMFORT AND COMPANIONSHIP, BUT GIVE NOTHING IN RETURN. I WILL PASS ON MY THIRST. IF IT MY ONLY DESIRE. TO LIVE, IN MYSELF AND MY OFFSPRING. LIFE IS THE BREATH IN MY BODY. THE BREATH IN MY BODY IS LIFE.
They circled, and she felt the beast rising in her as adrenaline surged in anticipation of the coming fight. She was afraid and excited in one breath. Her conscience screamed at her not to fight him. To just stand and relent. She could handle much of what he could throw at her. If would hurt, she might even die. But he would be OK.
The terrible knowledge – her birthright that she had tried so hard to ignore – filled her heart with agony. A well placed hand or foot, or elbow or knee; just here or here, with this much pressure… she could kill him with a blow and her body knew it.
If he fought her, really fought her with all of his being, she wouldn't have the control to see it coming. It might be an accidental slip, a subconscious move. Her power over life and death was so fearfully great.
She had worked so hard to keep every fight controlled, every training exercise. Always making sure she was alert and in complete control. Able to predict every movement her opponent would make, rehearsed and practised groups of moves flowing together. But here she had no control. None at all. There was no choreographer here.
And he began.
And she fought.
~Sometimes I wonder who writes this stuff. Because I don't think it's me…~