Writing Practice

Original: https://psychobarcodetranslations.wordpress.com/flamering/

She loves the sun, yet splotches of dark clouds blocked her beloved rays. She hates rain because its cacophony erases her already fading existence. But even so, she understood that the worst part of heavy rain; is the night that follows...

The cloudless sky with its crown of gold is her primary connection to the outside world. The great flaming celestial body strode across the sky, and with each passing day; she gazed at it. The sun fulfills her, it fits her hair color, and its sense of distance instills wonder in her. And above all, it is the furthest place she could gaze at.

The girl lived in an old church with a stately gate that is connected to a solid wall. She practiced martial arts in the square and saw garrisons of armed troops keeping public order. The girl has lived here for as long as she can remember.

"Number 8, number 13! Step Forth!" Bellowed a shrill voice

It was the teacher. Number 8 and 13 stepped to answer his call, two of them stood; their hands gripped their wooden sword

The teacher studied their forms and spoke with an emotionless voice: "Begin."

They jumped at each other. A raindrop fell in a straight line; The girl blitzed through the battleground. number 8 held his wooden sword and the girl strike his. Dust dispersed as rain splattered its bowels and brown patches of mud appeared. The force of her sword blew her back and reversed the inertia of her upper body, she moved her left foot back to compensate but mistakes were made. The boy has already won.

The boy repeatedly struck and she felt her hands going numb. The boy pushes forwards and each time, she retreated. Numbers, the children of the church have no name; a name was something special. Once, she wished to name herself, which bought about the teacher's rage. The teacher promised them one in His Majesty's honor after they come of age. To receive one is of great significance.

Finally, the girl saw a chance. She feinted and the boy fell for it, his wooden sword grazed her sunbathed hair and in one stroke, she reversed the situation. She swung, over and over. With all her weight she bludgeoned him, and each time, the boy matched her swords. For every repulsion, she used the resulting distance to accumulate weight and speed. But then; the boy dodged, and with the massive amount of force she swung, she fell forward. The boy strike with all his might and knocked her down, mud splattered everywhere. And without wasting his chance, he swung his sword at her neck.

"Enough" The boy stops short. "Number 8, Well done!"

He stood straight as a pole "Thank you." The girl stared at him and it reminded her of her position. She struggled to stand and the boy's hand twitched and on his face: a look of hesitation surfaced.

And the teacher did not even wait until she fully stood "Number 13" He spoke, and the girl turned her head at him without much vigor. "Have you forgotten what you've learned?" His emotionless voice stabs at her.

"Careless, and dull. Another failure"

She stood beside number 8. "I'm sorry" raindrops drench the world in greys. On her face are rivulets and streams, and the rain keeps falling.

The teacher eyed her and there was nothing but the sound of beating rain. "You are hopeless." he began. "Don't forget that it is only through His Majesty's will that we kept you alive"

Her bruises sent pangs of pain throughout her body and hindered her posture. "I understand"

"Recite"

"Our lives are as shields and swords of his body and breath
"As waves of his ills on the shores where birth is the beacon of death.
"And the love song of the sun as thou diest resounds through the wind of her rays
"Glory to His Majesty Befnam in the highest, for the sun is unable to decay"

Her words felt hollow; though her mouth recited her heart is unmoved. The words meant nothing to her, she didn't come up with them. She was told to speak it, to memorize it; even before she understood what is meant by it. Why is it so? Why should they become his shields and swords?

The girl stepped forward with eyes gleaming with inquisitive thirst. "Teacher" she stared at his face "Why do we have to recite this every day?"

The teacher's face was briefly colored with surprise. But before she could process it, his facade returned.

"On His Majesty Befnam flows the blood of our founding father; Emperor Bergis." The teacher spoke articulately, his eye aimed at an empty space "Each of his subjects revered him so, for He bought this era of peace and tranquility" He closes his eyes, and rain drenches his white robe. "Therefore to show our gratitude; we swear our undying loyalty to His Majesty. Reciting is the least we can do to repay our great debt to Him"

He opened his eye and stared at the girl and the rain fell and wash away every meaning his words contained. "Listen well" he stepped closer to her "To question His Majesty is always unacceptable" His eyes glazed away before refocusing on her "... Yes, we are to respect him as we would our father. And Horshiedo, our mother"

The girl stared back, his words are masked by rain, but one thing stood out to her: "Then is it okay to think of him as my dad?"

The girl felt a sharp jolt of pain and the world spun around her; the teacher has struck her. With his face contorted into a mindless rage, he shouted:

"Blasphemy!"

Her mind was confused. The anguish followed directly after. The teacher kicked her rhythmically and inside her unmarked heart, a new feeling was begotten for "His Majesty". The teacher kicked her stomach and legs. Muds scraped her face and soaked her clothes while the other children watched without giving much emotion.