Ash I

Do you believe in blessings?

I personally think that blessings are just circumstance. Some would say that we choose the life we live. I never chose. And maybe that is my biggest downfall.

The students at the academy. The academy of… The academy of magic, forgive me, the name escapes me. The academy of magic’s junior class must complete a trial by combat to move onto the final year. I, Ashley Belgarde, am going to my junior graduation ceremony.-

The cell doors open to the grand arena, there are families in the stands, teachers above them in the bleachers, and a boy before me. I have seen him before, I know him by habit, but not by speech. He prefers the back rows of the classroom. He gets a chicken sandwich when I see him in the cafeteria. But his name escapes me, his voice is foreign. His slim frame, his spiky hair, and a large wooden staff, the wood arc’d around the blue diamond gemstone, and it stands beside him.

I have nothing in my hands. Nay a tome or a scepter. Just my two hands. My two frail, dark skinned hands, they are pale from the cold. As I show myself to the audience, I feel their stares raining onto me. “How brazen,” I hear an elite say. “Do they not want to graduate?” Another parent says.

But I may have felt the biggest resentment from the boy standing across from me, “You may as well have spat on my face,” his face read.

The faces in the crowds, the boy ahead of me, they look like blobs, like if you stared at a word for too long and it lost its meaning. To be frank, I cannot say I really care.

He opened a magic circle, and from the circle shot a deluge of scalding water. Idle hands are the work of the devil.

The core concept of magic, as many wouldn’t believe, is actually math. Magic is simply overly advanced physics, chemistry and calculus. Everyone can do magic, but magic, is very hard. That’s what the elite elves tell to the humans of Hillesgarde. but I think anyone could do magic if properly cultured. Although the math really does help.

I sit in the middle of the classroom, but it is a dry place. The floors are freshly shone, considering that the smell of vinegar still hangs in the room, I would say it was cleaned maybe two days ago. It is so clean in the classroom, it is a paradox, how the backrow of the classroom is filled with boys who laugh to themselves about perverted topics, the curvature of women just a classroom over, I cannot help but bite my lip in contempt.

For such a sterile place, it is surprising how the locker room talk escapes into the classroom, but no one can stand up for me, as I am the only woman in the classroom. Most of these boys are half my age, fresh-faced and fast-tracked by the regime. Entering the academy at thirty-one meant I had to sit through their prepubescent locker room talk just to get my degree.

I would argue that the gender split here at the academy is about 85-15. For every eight men and a half, there are one and a half women. I am not sure what constitutes half of a woman, or half of a man, but numbers speak for themselves. It is the stark reality that there is a woman in the other room battling with this reality.

The teacher who leads this class, Sir Alvin, is a military chief for the regime, he specializes in mortars, cannons, armaments with precise aim. He is a stalwart folk. His face shrivels up at the smallest dissonance, a man easily bothered. His wicked mustache trails down and curls into his lips. I believe he needs a shave, and is rather unappetizing.

My head lays upon my fist, I stare into the board, an amalgamation of odd symbols, Js and Ks, jargon that should be simplified into layman’s terms. Anything to confuse the masses, I suppose.

The classroom comes back into focus when Alvin calls upon me to answer a question. So deeply in thought, I allow the question to fly over my head.

“…” I squirm for a moment, writhing in disappointment and embarrassment.

The door calls for me, I blink, and find myself in the confines of my dorm, perched by the window.

I live in a premium suite. I live alone. I do not remember the last time I spoke. I can see myself topless in the reflection of the window, the gray skies and constantly falling snow reflect back to me the last things I want to see. I am mystified, I hold my chest, that is pointed in two different directions. I touch my tight face along the cheekbones, my face chopped carefully from eating carefully, lightly, not much at all.

Exhausted, I fall backwards onto my bed and stare at the fuzzies on my ceiling, the constantly moving amoebas that never seem to get a rest. I feel a jitter that rests deep inside my bones, this energy, this anxiety, must be expunged. The halls were filled with the trudging of feet, students coming and going through the halls.

I find myself throwing darts at the dart board, it is hung crooked, but I can adjust the angle to accommodate for it. The dart bounces off the wall. I come from the bed, creaking over and picking up the dart. I felt the piercing gaze of my mother’s portrait blazing into my back. I painted that portrait forever ago, someone slipped a photograph of my mother underneath my door in my adolescence. In a fit of teenage angst, I painted her face using oils, and pastels in the mansion. I am 34, now. I do not miss that place. I do not miss my mother. I feel indifferent about it all.

Now, the photo is tucked away in my drawer labeled, ‘To burn.’ Excuse my sloth.

My door opens to the great expanse of the academy. The halls are filled with men, yes, but there are a handful of women here who look like me, some with lighter skin, some more well endowed, but it would be gluttonous to pick up two deadly sins. I feel more comfortable here than in my dorm, but the fear crawls up my back constantly.

The women outside of the academy may as well be chained to a chair, or find themselves weaving textiles and silk. A sedentary life, but not having to think is not a horrible thing, especially with the way things are, now. I do have my own kitchen, my own autonomy, even the ability to come to the academy is a boon. Perhaps, the grass is greener on the other side.

The procession of others’ feet is enthralling, I wish I could connect, but I would not know what to say to these women, let alone these men. Luckily, today, I am taking to the streets.

I waited on the streetside, people watching carefully. The elves in this district walk with conviction. They move with agency over their circumstances. They choose this life everyday, and make the marathon of life in stride. I am surprised they never seem to get exhausted.

A horse caddy comes on schedule for me, I double check my watch to make sure. The human chauffeur had his hair tied into ropes, dreadlocks, some of the students also have. I could see the courage brewing to speak in his back, slowly perking up as the ride went along. I swiftly push the curtain closed.

From the windows you can see the drones that move back and forth across the sky. Zeppelins with elven elites. Those men in zeppelins would rather sever a finger than set foot in a caddy, their actions to shun humans are never on the spot, but they take place over time. I consider simply shutting the blinds a pleasantry. They would not want to speak to me, either.

A dirty smell of coal, the heat pushing out of a street grate. This industrialized town can be so bleak at times, despite every form of heat I have access to. I sometimes think about what life would be outside of these confines. My mother has a town on the outskirts of Hillesgarde, down the mountains and into the forest, a small place called Edensvale. It is a primitive place. It simply doesn’t compare to the privilege we have here in Hillesgarde. I think.

I hesitate to give a tip to the driver. I’m certain another human or elf has enough pity in their heart today. The caddy releases me before the grand furnace. The furnace is stocky at the base, and opens its head to the sky, emanating a heap of heat into Hillesgarde. It is warm enough to take my jacket off when you get into the city central. The road is adorned with cobblestones, and I feel grounded when my pumps hit the stone.

My father, Stephan, meets me quickly outside a nearby cafe. A suppose a public showing would do wonders for your political image. He is the face of the nation, the ‘Rí.’

Stephan is a small man, of decent stature. I would think he dwarf if it were not for his pointed ears, such that could turn a screw. He has a low cut, a buzz cut even, and he has a constellation of moles across his cheeks. I wonder how much he feels, being in the midst of it all. There is so much going on that I cannot help but detach myself. For a man who is the face of the regime, I’m sure he revels in the attention he gets.

His attention was not on me first. He shakes the hands of nearby elven nobles, and entertains a human sneer with a smile. Stephan constantly reminds me that upholding the regime is within my responsibility as well. I would rather sever a finger than smile in the face of another, human or elf.

Finally, he is able to seat me, pulling out the chair before I sit down. No elven or human man treats me with such a pleasantry in the academy. I am glad to have set such a standard with my father.

He greets me consistently with a flower. A rose, this time; it was cold, I guess he had been sitting on it for a while. He tells me that he regrets not naming me Rose, rather than Ashley. My auburn red hair reminded him of the pale roses that protruded through the snow in the winter. It is always winter in Hillesgarde.

Then, he reminds me that I am due to graduate soon. At this point, his words cease to have meaning. I am focused on tucking the rose into my corset. The fluffy button-up I have beneath it is suffocating. Despite the outer feminine crest of the corset, often times, because of my petite chest, I feel just like the men in the academy. Those cruel beasts. My eyes were about to shut, close, and teleport me back to my dorm, but Stephan said something that caught my eye.

“Have you returned any letters from your mother? I’ve been sure to route them to the aca—”

I do not want to fathom that joke of a mother. She sends me petty letters, all without a return label to send the nonsense back to whence it came. Why is it that she fawns passivity when she could raise her elderly ass and come to me personally like my father does. Buy me a coffee, bring me a rose. A cowardly matriarch who whimpers behind a shield of vines. My teeth clench at the prospect, but I simply say no. I do not want to cause any stress to Stephan’s poor heart.

Stephan drags to speak, in his attempts to carry along the conversation with me, I notice ears peaking from the rooftops, subtle, white colored magic circles poised in front of their wands. They are air snipers. One of them, has a slightly cracked gemstone. The conversation peters out, and the bill was signed with an obnoxious signature, and a handful of coins as tip, I give him a hug with half of my body, and we part ways.

During my ride home, I had the same driver with locks in their hair. I decide to leave the blind open, so I could catch glimpses of his face. The patchy beard beginning to come in. The alarming sound of a horn blaring as a car collides with the wooden armor of the caddy.

The car had been moving obnoxiously fast, so fast it would be obvious that the driver was simply not paying attention. And the car, such an offensive machine—it had a stark metal hull that could crush a horse under its weight. The human driver had been killed in the impact. There was no one left to question, a double homicide in Hillesgarde. As if they would care for any statement made by a human.

As for the caddy, it had obviously ruptured underneath the pressure of the impact, a symphony of wood buckling underneath the zooming metal frame. The man’s head lay slack in the window of the caddy before my eyes, a still, fixed set of pupils were gazing infinitely at the ceiling.

The man looked kind before he passed away. I choked thinking that maybe we could have exchanged a word before he passed away in front of me. I shuddered thinking that the man’s last words could have been shared with me, and not his wife or presumed family, if they had one.

I dared not look into the front. The onlookers said that his legs had caved in, bones bent inwards by the machine. The nearby women fawn in relief to see that the rí’s daughter had made it out alive. I want nothing more but to roll my eyes, but upholding the regime is partially my duty, too.

While smiling as brightly as elvenly possible, I notice a scurrying in the corner of my eye, the shine of a cracked gemstone was hard to ignore. Bastards.

I wonder if this city would budge if I lit the grandest flame, all engulfing, the largest I could conjure with my two hands.

I have a knapsack of coals that I periodically steal from the furnace. I respect human labor, but I think I am entitled to a handful of the dusty rocks. Dirty rocks. I cannot help but bite my lip in contempt, but being a klepto fills me with a sense of agency, skimming the line of being caught, although, as the Ri’s daughter, I doubt they would hold me in a prison for more than a waking breath.

I set them ablaze and toss them into the expanse of the city from the roof of the academy. The zephyrs of Hillesgarde only become more brutal the further up you go. I have enacted a small aura of fire to keep myself warm. It drains my life energy, pulling from my core, but I feel safe here, warm.

The coals do not burn for long outside of my control. I love them as hard as I can, pouring a heap of flame into them, but they always turn into blocks of ice, then shatter against the ground. I simply hope they don’t hit a man upon the head. The man…

I cannot get that scene out of my head. The man’s head laying slack keeps replaying in my head, his hair was growing gray from the root, even his mouth being slightly open, as if he had something to say to me. I never knew directing horses could be so cumbersome. I hate feeling survivor’s guilt from a man I barely knew.

I check my watch, I should be in Alvin’s math right now. I don’t want to face him after walking out of his class. I migrate further up the roof, and lay upon the rafters. From above, I can see groups of humans debating, they stood upon boxes, soapboxes. And they protested reasons against the advent of the new bill being imposed by the regime.

The protesters were clad in thick woolly jackets, and they spoke of a tax being imposed on ‘transportative’ property. The regime could do a more thorough job of oppressing the humans, especially if they are going to make up words on the spot like this. I sneered at this prospect. The humans slowly began tussling between them, citing the recent car crash as a reason for them to simply pave separate roads for cars, and that ‘their local official’ promised them so. Before I lay back, I wonder to myself if my father had any hand in this. Surely, being the face of the regime is not dashed with a brush of evil. Hogwash.

Before entering my dorm, I dump the knapsack onto the ground outside the academy, this god forsaken hobby is probably awful for me, anyways. There were a bunch of letters from my mother. I suppose they got backed up on their way in through the mountains. I wish they were lost there forever. My finger tips began to boil with a rage that made the paper just a little thinner, a patch of orange growing upon the back of the envelope. I do not even want to think about it. I shoved it promptly into the drawer, but it was full.

I kicked it in with my foot, but it was at its capacity, I give up. Fuck that *annoying *woman. Letter four hundred and seventy three, and you cannot make a trip up the hills? Do you not have a royal guard, or people who care enough to bring you to your daughter? God, Marianne, fuck you.

I opened the drawer above it, pulling out a harmonica. I kissed the instrument, dragging my lips against the frigid, dusty metal along the mouthpiece. Before breathing in, I remembered the sour notes I would play. I felt anxiety crawling up my back whenever I would violate the eardrums of my neighbors. I’m sure they called me something stupid, the girl with the harmonica, or fragile lungs perhaps. As a sour note shot out of the other end of the instrument, I could not help but grit my teeth and throw it against the wall. I covered my eyes, before throwing myself onto the bed.

The darts were no better, my right arm may as well had been broken, as my throws would completely miss any section of the board, not even jabbing into the wall. When the dart flew into the door, instead, I just turned around and sulked at my bedside. I did not want to move anymore. I am tired from this day. From this week, from this month. So I let them pass.

The weeks after did not exist; I remember the blur of the sky. The men arguing. The forming of different parties. The flags they carried, the colors blended over each other when I would look too hard. The faces of my classmates. They looked the same, honestly. I could remember what they brought to lunch. What they bought. Them playing tennis in the court outside of my dorm. Then, seeing them in class the next day. Taking a test I did not study for. Handing in the exam. Missing a couple of questions. Coming home to letters. Crying every night.

Phases do not just start and stop as you call it. Sometimes, they simply end just because it’s Tuesday. This Tuesday, I desired to get drunk. I took my shower. I do not really remember my last shower. I have not shaven since that day of the car crash. My chest, no, I do not even want to look at it. I still feel dirty, despite that shower.

No horse caddy today, no car ride. I walked down the cobblestone roads, with my jacket. I feel like a drone when I walk through these streets. My stature makes it impossible to look someone in the face. Like a car could come rushing off the road and obliterate me at any moment.

The anxiety did not last long before I found myself in the central district. I was finally able to remove my jacket, as the furnace made me feel more open to others. I creaked a small smile, before stepping up to Hillesgarde’s bar. The man in the front of the establishment halted me, his large arms barricading my entry.

“…Excuse me?” I squeak.

“Do you have a workers permit?” The man said solemnly, like he was condemning me to a night of no alcohol.

“No.” I sheepishly looked away, turning my back on him without a fight.

There are a handful of other taverns and bars in Hillesgarde. The men outside of them looked at me with contempt. I felt like a cat abandoned by their mother, at first. But I felt the ground beneath me, and the winter wind whispering into my ears. This is the warmest part of Hillesgarde.

While I was happy I came outside tonight, I was more discouraged about being unable to drink. The passerby were also getting turned away. Requiring a work permit, how surgical. The passerby huff and puff upon being sent away, but they kept processing. At this point, I could care less what would happen to me tonight. I trail behind them.

They led me into a dangerous corner of Hillesgarde, and I found myself able to unzip my jacket, even sweating a little with the drastic difference in weather. It is exhausting. I worry about following these men home, but the red lights are slowly beginning to show themselves.

I have heard murmurs of the red light district, a place for women to rot under the suffrage of trying to please the ever so ambitious man. Where bone dust can be found for cheap. Where elf is generally unappreciated. I looked about to find nay a pointed ear. At this point, I have found myself behind enemy lines. The humans danced in the streets and carried cups, some sat from their windows and smoked cigarettes.

The road was lined with gravel, not cobblestone, and my flats quickly amassed a small number of rocks. Constantly emptying them became annoying, but my feet were not grafted and weathered enough to simply remove my shoes, like I saw some of the human children do. I checked my clock to find children playing deep into the night. I was not allowed play even during the day as a child.

The tavern, the Raven’s Nest did not have even a bouncer to keep people out. The door swung open, and I promptly follow behind the couple lurching out of the bar. Sex does not even sound like a possibility for me.

The bar was even more active. They had a dance floor in the middle, and the humans danced with their bare feet, twisting and grooving back and forth. There, I even found some pointed ears. My shoulders dropped, but not by much. Women sat at the bar, too. The bartender worked arduously, satisfying the entire bar.

To be frank, I am not much of a drinker. I held onto my other arm, looking away sheepishly as the barstools were completely filled. Before simply turning my back on the bar, a large human stood before me. I bounced into his stocky stomach, and lost my balance, but he caught me.

“You lost?” The human spoke to me, but his voice did not match his face. His voice was neither feminine nor masculine, it was something in between, but his low cut hair…? but I have seen some women with low cut hair. I bit my lip before speaking.

“Did ye want to order a drink, lass?” The human looked me up and down, but I could not stop staring at their mechanical hand holding onto mine. He… she… he. He quickly noticed.

“Apologies.” He brought me back to my feet and I bent my legs inward.

Finally, I found the courage to speak. “I…” I anxiously looked about. “I wanted a drink.”

He smiled at me. …At me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and pointed to the bartender. “You’re supposed to ask her.”

“But the barstools—”

“’ere, love.” He hailed down the bartender, and looked to me to answer.

“…Just give me whatever will get me drunk.”

They pulled out a short, but wide cup, and poured out a clear white spirit, then they asked me if I wanted to open a tab. I froze once again, looking desperately to the gentle giant behind me.

The man grinned, and told the bartender to put it on his tab. While he spoke to the bartender, I looked carefully at their arms, one had a sleeve of tattooed flowers going down to their fingers, and on the other, a mechanical arm. Their fingers were very static.

I took the shot down in one gulp. I am not much of a drinker, honestly, it is my first time in bar.

The spirit was clearly cheap, it burned my throat while it slid down, I exhaled as hard as I could to get my taste buds clean. For once, I felt a little bit at home. The gentle giant was gone, and I got to have a seat at the bar.

I rest my shaking fingers on the shot glass and look at it from both ends. These past couple of weeks have been so much. I haven’t been around to look them in the eye, but they jab knives into me.

My head rests upon the bar, and I can hear the muffled music against my ear.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, and I’m scared to take a step forward. As if worrying about my grandest fear would make it go away, or make me more prepared to face it.

Tonight, I want more shots. I want to forget about the man. About my stupid dad, my stupid mom. I want to forget it all and let the vodka wash over me. I often imagine myself in a glass cage, curled into a ball. I am happy to see things for how they are, but I wish it wasn’t happening here in the Raven’s Nest. That gentle giant ripped a hole in my chest, and I am leaking onto the floor.

I reopened my eyes in a government zeppelin. My head was buzzing with the hangover from Tuesday. The men around me smiled boldly and crazily, twitching at each other to maintain appearance. I suppose the mask is even more firmly planted the further up you go.

From above, I could see the riot unfolding in the capital. There were elven magicians perched, firing ‘nonlethal’ air bullets at protesting humans. Those magicians are just so young. Maybe even younger than the boys in my classes. With their round faces and soft jaws, spines of hair creeping out of their chins and cheeks.

There were women and children caught underneath the rubble. I was so high up, that I could not hear their screams, but their tears made me choke. Food stands turned asunder, lost human children wandering aimlessly, mouths wide open with terror. A small doll left dusty from the rubble.

I stare endlessly from the window of the zeppelin, the noises from the other sides of the rooms felt like vibrations, no matter where I felt, where I looked, there was misery surrounding me, unsafe in my own head, unsafe in this reality too.

The wispy mustache of the carriage driver, then back to the big human of the Raven’s Nest. Back to my father. To my mother. Opening my eyes and trying my damnest to teleport back to my dorm. To the roof, or maybe Alvin’s classroom. I prayed and wept to be anywhere from here.

Begrudgingly, with buzzing tinnitus, I tuned back into the men on the zeppelin speaking about the quality of coffee in the cafe. They were eating fresh fruit from bowls, and enjoying mixed drinks with oranges, or other fruit along the rim of the glass.

They sniffed lines of bone powder, as well. Their noses flushed and they moaned with near sexual pleasure when they lifted their heads back and spasmed. A fully dilated pupil and a jittering of the hands followed. Like wild monkeys prancing around a table of bananas, if the banana was a fiberous powder.

Eventually, they started to turn into blobs, too. If they came onto me, I guess it would be better to see the staticy face of an elven man rather than the hungry look of a crazed politician.

The zeppelin landed eventually, and the united wizard front dispersed of the riot, promptly cleaning up the center for the nobles to walk again. When I trudged the hilly terrain again, it felt like there wasn’t even a riot here hours before. Not even a stench of blood in the area.

A group of human women moved sporadically through the area, calling the name of a girl. Grishta, maybe.

Drowned in my thoughts, they showed me a photo of the girl. Her small almond eyes, brown and seeking. She looked virtuous for a young girl.

“We had lost her during the riot. Not even after they cleaned up the rubble, she didn’t turn up. She likes to wander, but she knows home.” The lady told me urgently.

She gripped my arm, waiting for my answer. An uncomfortable, desperate look in her eye followed by a twitching lip.

I couldn’t say much. A simple no is all I could squeak out. I regret not wishing them well, or apologizing. Grishta.

The riot had distracted me from my meeting with my father. My eyes were nearly closed shut from exhaustion, or the hangover. It escapes me how many days it has been since Tuesday.

“Do you think the humans will take to the streets again, Dad?”

Stephan has nothing to say. He wipes his forehead with a handkerchief. This is the first time he has not brought me any flowers, or favors. I feel pity for him. But a smile perks up on his face.

“Are you excited to graduate?”

I wipe my mouth, it is my turn not to say anything.

“Are you not worried about my wellbeing, Dad? I don’t want to get caught in between another riots, why not just give them what they want?” I knew my words were futile. He didn’t even have the power to give me the name he wanted.

Stephan simply sighs. I suppose there is no point in inquiring further. He begins to speak about the trial by combat once more. Blast him for not even bringing me a rose to tuck into my corset. Stephan looks less and less like an elf the more I watch him speak. My disdain for him boils in my throat like venom.

The city is constantly moving.

The night before the combat trial was spent on the roof again. I picked up the habit of throwing coals again. I am burning my finger tips as I ignite every coal, promptly cooling off after every release.

I looked at my hands, dried as I reopened my eyes to the colosseum. The buzzing of voices was overstimulating, vibrating around me. Families above were jeering, hooting and hollering, holding onto prime cuts of meat.

The boys were punching each other, square across their faces, back and forth in ritual. Their flesh thwacking as it came in contact with bone.

They chanted each others’ names, like vanity, but outward. Me and the other women looked in disgust. Sir Alvin and a handful of other teachers were coming through, leading the boys back to their cells. We were to stay in cells before our trials by combat. Alvin led me into my cell and vetted me before closing the door.

“Do you have a staff, or tome you plan on using?”

I gave him the stupidest look I could conjure. He grimaced at me and shut the door.

I sat on the bench and looked at the ceiling, and at first, I tried to focus on something. I was not the first one to go, and there was a seed of anxiety sown inside me. Amoebas moving as they pleased, then I tried to place myself outside of the room. But every cry, scream and screech of magic caused the seed to grow and blossom into a blast of fireworks in my nervous system.

I writhed, and failed to breathe for minutes within the cell. Grasping my chest, hyperventilating, ready to scream, gritting my teeth, when the attack reached its peak, the cell doors slid open. The fireworks blasted through my system, a crazed look in my eye when I saw the light of the colosseum. I came out of the darkness like a lost fawn, holding myself.

Now, I want to ask. Do you believe in blessings?

Do you believe that me watching that stupid human get his legs caved in was a blessing? The zeppelin filled with men who see women nothing as objects? My father who could see me nothing more but as an object? My mother who does nothing behind her walls as hell breaks loose in Hillesgarde?

The autonomy is nothing. The suite with the fancy fridge is nothing. Even the fucking shot that giant bought me, is nothing. This trial? It is nothing. So, I will treat it as so.

The cell doors open to the grand arena, there are families in the stands, teachers above them in the bleachers, and a boy before me. I have seen him before, I know him by habit, but not by speech. He prefers the back rows of the classroom. He gets a chicken sandwich when I see him in the cafeteria. But his name escapes me, his voice is foreign. His slim frame, his spiky hair, and a large wooden staff, the wood arc’d around the blue diamond gemstone, and it stands beside him. My eye twitches while staring him down.

I have nothing in my hands. Nay a tome or a scepter. Just my two hands. My two frail, dark skinned hands, they are pale from the cold, raw from the scorching coals. As I show myself to the audience, I feel their stares raining onto me.

“How brazen,” I hear an elite say.

“Do they not want to graduate?” Another parent says.

I suppose I am a product of my own actions.

But I may have felt the biggest resentment from the boy standing across from me, “You may as well have spat on my face,” his face read.

The faces in the crowds, the boy ahead of me, they look like blobs, like if you stared at a word for too long and it lost its meaning. To be frank, I cannot say I really care.

He opened a magic circle, and from the circle shot a deluge of scalding water. Idle hands are the work of the devil.

I fastened my feet into the ground and swept a fiery gust with my hands, turning the water to a steam, and watched the boy carefully. He grips his staff tightly, then opens three more magic circles.

The water was formed into the shape of a fist, and came hurtling towards me, turning into ice. I watched his eyes moved as he formulated the water in the perfect shape. Raising my arms up, I create two pillars of fire, then push my hands outward, emboldening the flames.

They roared with a scorching fervor, as blisters began forming on my palms, and the sweat cascaded from my forehead. From the gap in between the pillars, shards of ice began flowing through, scratching and slicing my cheeks. They felt like sonic needles flying past, but that only motivated me to ask more of the flames.

I gave my heart to the pillars, pulling away strips of density from the fire, and they slowly turned into tornados, gusting and whipping away the waves of water. But through the whirling inferno, I was able to see a smoke cloud forming. It was quiet. Then, it was not. The boy had appeared behind me, he slammed his thick wooden staff into my forearms, caving in my fragile arms inwards.

I screamed from the deep of my lungs, but his attack did not stop there. He smashed the cane into my torso, and when I brought my arms in to defend myself, he resorted to my elbows, my fists. I could hear the skin tear, the wet crunch of every bludgeon. At the peak of the assault, he swung wide, and I swiftly ducked underneath his staff. My frame burned as I made this deliberate, desperate movement.

Now was my chance. I stepped forward and pummeled my fist into him as hard and as fast as I could, gritting my teeth as it hit his abdomen, then turned it further up into his chest. I could feel the air exploding from his lungs, but I needed space. Quickly, I spun around and sunk my calf into his side, knocking him off balance and into the fray.

The fight was in its final act. I could feel it. I felt the burn in my hands, the throbbing along my forearms, and down to my elbows. My knuckles bled onto the ground. My battered and bruised face was stiff to the blistering heat in the arena. For some reason, I decided to look up to the stands, even though they were nothing but blobs, I could feel their sharp stares.

When I called forth the six magic circles, I couldn’t help but cough a bead of blood into my hands. These are the final beats of my heart. I thinned the exit point of the circle, and erupted a flurry of arrows, bursting the boy down where he stood. He barricaded himself in a whirlpool of water. They evaporated and turned to smoke after every arrow, clouding my vision. But I didn’t need my eyes anymore, I could feel everything.

The air was blazing as I closed in on that chicken sandwich boy. That asshole water boy. That boy who tried peeking into the women’s locker room on many occasions. That bastard of a man. I tore open the water barricade with my hands coated in flame, to find him cowering under the barrage. The smoke poured into my lungs, but I continued pummeling him through every cough.

He bucked and tried to fight as I began smashing him with my fists. My wrists burned with an onyx black that came only from the relentless scorching. I slammed his face. I hooked him. I straighted him. I punched that boy until his nose bent to the west. His hair was entirely disheveled, and his mouth was flooded with blood, pouring out onto the rough ground.

More than anything, though, my forearms blazed with that same onyx black. I gripped his neck like a lifeline, but I planned on cutting his. Breathing in, clenching my teeth, closing my eyes…

…And opening them to a different ceiling once again.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my wrists burning from the frigid iron chained to me. I was handcuffed to the bed, I wanted to fight, but I barely had the energy to stand up. I’m embarrassed to find out what happened before I woke up here.

The amoebas moved back and forth. The fuzzies taunted me. Back here again, they would whisper atrocities to me. I fought the tears beginning to flow from my cheeks, but the door bumped open. I couldn’t breathe, I turned to my side.

A thick, but soft voice called out for me. I turned over slowly to find Alvin’s unshaved mustache. Some things never change. Stephan followed behind him. They pulled up metal chairs and sat beside the bed.

I shook voraciously in the bed. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t focus. Staring blankly at the ceiling. My heart was getting ready to explode from the chest. I could not look those men in the eyes. I couldn’t drop my shoulders, or relax my fingers as the boy’s face was burned into my psyche.

What did it look like as it caved in from my fist? What did it look like when he screamed? How did it sound when I choked him out? Tried to take his life for my own? I can see myself writhing in the bed from the corner of the room.

When I continued peering into the room, I noticed that Alvin snapped before me. I was brought back into focus, and was able to lend a bit of an ear before drowning in my thoughts once again. He told me I was to be enlisted in the military.

Was there ever a final year for me?

I wasn’t allowed to mourn my senior year for long, before I could sense Stephan’s somber face. A slothful bastard he is, too. Stephan’s daughter is Stephan.

They call for Alvin down the hall and I am left for a moment with my father, despite me about ready to burn these chains and run as far as I could Stephan rests his face in his hands.

The moment felt like hours, a scowl beginning to grow across my face. There was nothing this man could say to possibly make me feel better. This may as well be the worst possible fucking scenario. But two words crept from his mouth.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry for what? Sorry for neglecting my rose? Sorry for choosing your stupid ideals over my own safety? Oh, maybe you’re sorry for begging me to enlist in the stupid magic academy? I was ready to try and teleport back home again, to my dorm, if I wasn’t already kicked out of the academy. But then I heard him.

“I killed a child, recently, Ashley.”

I tore my teeth through my taste buds, drawing blood into my mouth. If I could shut my ears now, I would. If I had access to my hands, I would set this whole prison ablaze. No, I would strangle Stephan, I would set my charred hands ablaze one more time to put that man out of his misery. I writhed with rage at the idea of hearing this bastard speak any further, but I was subjected even further.

“I killed a human girl for the regime. I never thought you would be forced to fight my battles, Ashley.”

“Her eyes, god, her eyes, they faded ever so softly while I watched the life drain from her…”

Stephan shuddered. I could feel fury begin to erupt in my chest.

“I want nothing to do with this place. Its responsibility is beyond me, now.”

He burst into silent tears. A muffled wailing. Cowardly. Slothful, I wish I could sear his face with my flames.

He reaches to touch me, but I shriek. I fought the handcuffs, flailing relentlessly, the iron sending twinges of pain through my wrists every time I hit it.

You want nothing to do with this place? I could rather die than spend another second in this fucking place.

You did it. You made your grave, now lie in it. I clenched my teeth until they cracked.

I found myself in the cold once again, hands unable to fully close around the reins of my horse. To my left, was my classmate, and to my front, was Sir Alvin.

My winter coat kept me warm, but it did nothing for my burning inner turmoil.

We arrived at the rendezvous. We were surrounded by frozen foliage, and the hills rolled downward. I was able to take a look at the squadron. Though I didn’t count, it was about twenty, to twenty five men. They perched air snipers inside pillboxes, or behind cairns, little stone stacks meant to serve as cover.

I coasted up to my classmate to ask him what we knew about the enemy, but his arrogance refused an answer to me. I raised my voice sharply, and he told me to fuck off and ask Alvin. So much for solidarity.

Alvin was a little more friendly.

“It is a band of three to five people. They are weaving through the trees, we had sightings from our garrison.”

A small sighting of three to five people should not warrant such a strong response. Squash them with the armaments on the garrison. I turned to find the garrison filled with men laughing amongst themselves, drinking hot coffees, or smoking cigars. So much for keeping watch.

If I were to dash into the forest now, I wouldn’t make it far without getting a hole clean through my head. I paused on my horse, and as I finished that thought the ground beneath began to rumble. The horses shrieked and began panicking, flailing about and trotting desperately. Trying to keep a hold on my horse, the ground beneath me buckled.

The avalanche was my first taste of true fear. The anxiety I felt in my dorm, or on the street was nothing compared to the idea that I could very well lose my life today. Men fell from their horses, and were trampled with the shape of a horseshoe, their scarlet brain meat leaking onto the snow. The snow came in rough and fast, rolling aggressively down the hills and through the entire squadron. The deafening rumbling of snow was followed by the tumbling and screaming of live bodies.

From the high ground, I tumbled aggressively, bouncing on my head and arms, crashing into the foot of a tree, and forcing my back concave. My head was buzzing, and my back throbbed. From across, I could see a man smashed flat by the weight of a horse.

I shuddered coming back to my knees, but then, the stock of a crossbow was slammed into the back of my head. I ate a mouth full of snow and gagged. I began losing vision in my right eye from the impact. I was able to roll back onto my two feet, but the figure dressed in a bright white camo stood before me, loading a bolt into their crossbow.

“No shot you’re lost this time, lass.”

My mouth couldn’t help but open when I realized who was standing before me. My legs shivered and bowed inward, but I shakily spread them to get some footing.

I don’t have a moment to think. The bolt burst from the crossbow and I jumped out of the way. Opening a magic circle and tossing a fireball into the fray. The two collided, and caused an explosion.

I blocked my face as anxiety shot through me. If I did that again, it could cause another avalanche, one I’m not confident I could survive.

As the image of the man’s head being caved with the shape of a horseshoe blasted in my head, I shot back and forth. Where is my assailant? I hesitate, I hesitate badly. But I didn’t have to wait long. A right hook knocks me clean off of my feet, banging my head into a tree, then back into the snow.

The figure snatches the coat clean off of my back, and snaps my magic wand in my back pocket.

The winter wind was howling as the zephyrs bit frost down my frail, fragile body. The snow began to cover my eyes, and I didn’t even have the energy to crawl into a ball. Unable to see a way out, I stopped thinking and began to accept death.

Suddenly, snow was tossed off of me, and my shivering body was lifted onto a horse. The battlefield was fuzzy and gray, and I couldn’t piece together a thought. I thumbed to my back pocket to find a small stone, but I couldn’t help but lay slack on the horse rider.

“Can you fight?”

…

“Can you stand?”

…

“What can you do?”

I couldn’t even muster a squeak.

The rider passes through the skirmishes, men succumbing to stones slung right through their foreheads, eternal sleep upon snow. The bouncing of the horse shook me awake, and I was able to find my heart beat once again. The man was Sir Alvin, I was able to tell from the patches of bald on the back of his head.

I looked onto the battlefield with a quivering lip. I dug the gemstone from my back pocket and cradled it closely to my chest.

Alvin took notice and whispered to me. “I will help you. Do it.”

I breathed in and looked to the battlefield. Noticing the stark shine of the mechanical arm in the foliage. I nearly bit off my tongue again. Magic circles opened from far above me. They stacked over each other and grew tighter and tighter.

I opened seventeen magic circles upon each other. The gem reacted accordingly. Vibrating, then burning with monstrous flame. My bones became a lightning rod for the magic stone. Pure love circulating through my body like a closed circuit.

The wind began howling with fervor, whipping and worrying. I gave every modicum of power, devotion and love into the stone, and it promised me everything I could ask for.

He helped me aim carefully, lifting my head and pointing carefully to the center of the skirmish.

…There is finally something I can do.

The gemstone cracked and lost its shine as the comet came crashing down onto the battlefield. The feedback was intense, I couldn’t fix my gaze any further, any definition my eyes could bring me was reduced to a mere blob.

I give up.

The white hot gargantuan flame engulfed the forest, turning the snow to mud, and tearing the trees asunder, trunk came down collapsing, whatever men that were caught in the explosion were immolated, burnt to a crisp, an unintelligible blob of human remains.

I shivered holding the gemstone, devoid of color, a mass of three shards completely destroyed by the love coursing through both it and I. My lip quivered as I looked for a distinct feeling. A tingle, a shock, a wave of adrenaline, but all I felt was the burning discomfort.

My fingers were stained with a pungent black, the rot climbing up to my shoulders. Blood dripped from my mouth. I see why they put the stones onto scepters.

I couldn’t help but weep. I had always wondered if the grandest, largest flame would leave me feeling warm inside, but here I am, in the Hillesgarde outskirts, the coldest woman in the city.

The casualties were difficult to figure out overall. We had lost about nineteen men, but the enemy casualties were difficult to ascertain, as the scorching bodies were completely unrecognizable. Humans do not get dental records, after all.

I was forced to trudge the battlefield the weeks after. The damage I had done was irreversible. The winter wind worked day and night to undo my damage, but it would take months before they would be able to sheet fresh coats of snow once more.

I do not believe in blessings. I think you choose the blessings you receive. I think you are handed a platter and have choice. My choices? Absolutely horrible. I don’t know what is next. I don’t know where I’ll find the courage to face it.

I’ll use my body as the coal, next time. I’ll burn myself and the city altogether.