I run towards the training center with my bag containing my weapons and equipment weighing me down. I had overslept. I know what the consequence is: 50 press ups. Last week, Sophia Connor, a tall, blonde haired spear thrower, was late for the 6th time in a row. She got 120 press ups and sit ups. I can almost feel the pain in my core just thinking about them as I get closer to the academy. Coach Grey never shows mercy. Just like her eyes the previous day. I swear I will find out her name, even if it kills me.
I approach the heavy iron door and push it open. It opens with a loud creaking sound, at least 70 years old. I run down the corridor, my footsteps and heavy breath echoing like ghosts around me. I enter the boys changing room, dump my stuff in a clear space and enter the training room.
As I enter, bent over from exaustion and drenched in sweat, Coach Grey looks up from his training schedule with his hawk like eyes and looks menacingly at me. Everyone turns to stare at me, including that knife thrower. Her expression is hard to read, but I'm guessing that she wants the Coach to finnish what ever he's saying so she can skewer a dummy with the long, wickedly sharp knife she is clinging to.
Coach Grey beckons me forward. The only sounds that you can hear are my echoing footsteps and my rattling breath. All eyes follow me to the front of the hall. I can feel them piercing my skin.
"Hold yourself in a plank position untill I have finnished my schedule." His voice echos in my ear as I hear the command I've been expecting.
I reluctantly drop into the plank position; everyone now listening to the Coaches training for today. The longer I hold it, the more unbearable it becomes. Eventually, I stop listening to the Coach and I just end up concentrating on the hell I have to endure. I hear bits and peaces of his long talk:
"...cornucopia...armour...experience...partners..."
I can feel the sweat dripping down my face, but I dare not stop. After a life time, I am finally alowed to relax. I collapse to the floor, the relief of the end of the plank surrounding me. Coach makes me stand up so he can sort us into partners for training.
"The aim of this excersise," he bellows, "is to help you gain the experience of fighting with others who fight with different weapons. After I have finnished, you will get your armour on and stand with your partner..."
An array of chatter arises as the idea of partners comes up. I begin to try and make eye contact with Andrew, when Coach Grey brings us all back down to earth.
"...which have already been chosen."
A groan emerges from everyone in the room (including me) as the news hits us. The coach brings out a long list of names and after clearing his throat, brgins to read:
"Flint, Andrew and Davis, Ryan." I grunt to myself as I hear my two best friends names called. They got off easilly. Who knows who I'll be put with? Peter Reed, the tall, evil spear thrower, or Frazer Ore, Ryans fellow axe thrower who steals kids money? Coach continues with his list:
"Walker, Zoë and Sheffield, Gordon. Connor, Sophia and Vincent, Darrel. Hammar, Chloe and Young, William..." The list continues on and on. At one point, I feel that my name is never going to be called out. I hear sighs of relief as friends are put together, and groans as enemies are partnered. It is only after I hear "Gates, Tyler and Quinn, Sandra," that I finally hear my name called out: "Hunter, Cato and Stone, Clove."
Clove Stone? Who? After Coach Grey commands us to put on our armour, I ask Andrew if he knows who she is. He has no clue. Of course he wouldn't. He's pretty much introvert to the extreme. The only people he his fiends with are me and Ryan.
I love my armour. It is light weight, crafted in our district especially for us careers and solid enough to allow any weapon that comes into contact with you bounce off of it. I put it on over my shirt and trousers, feeling the solid, yet thin metal. The only disadvantage is that it doesn't cover your head or face. What does it matter? We're all experienced enough to know where to aim. The heart is a the best place for a kill.
I walk out with my beloved sword and try to look as if I have a purpose. Clove Stone...Clove Stone...I ask one of the knife throwers who Clove Stone is, and she points to a girl who is sharpening a throwing knife, without saying a word. I walk over confidently, tap her on the shoulder and say:
"I believe I am your training partner for today?"
She whips round, and the firat thing I notice are her unforgiving eyes. They bear into me, searching for my weaknesses, anything that will bring me down. They stare at me, and I stare back, because I know know the mysterious knife thrower. I now know who can win any fight they are put into.
Clove Stone, the knife thrower.
The girl who never misses.
Thats where it stops for now. Please comment and I will update ASAP :)