No Dogs Allowed

The Brightest Flame Devours the Most to Survive

The Corvidae was silent when I walked on the track.

Banners were already hung up for the main event of tomorrow, the blaring red shifting from scarlet to wine to blood. Red ribbons decorated the stands, red paint coating the entryway, red diamonds plastered onto the concrete. Individual banners draped the figures of Corvus like images of gods returning to their kingdoms. The crisp emblem of a spliced-up jewel was emblazoned on a skyscraper-scale flag, its body hanging in bright glory like a crown atop the stadium walls. RED DIAMOND: THE FINAL ROUND was printed in bold, permanent print. It felt like a nail in my coffin being slammed into the wood. Kenzo, Zahir, Diego, Kane, Rosalie, Meredith. And next to them, Zoe, Wynter, and me.

I sat down on the start line. The wind was chilly, its skeleton stiff and frozen, knocking into my skin every which way. I pulled the quacking goose sweater closer across my body in some futile attempt to keep out the cruelty of it. But like all real things in my life, it was fruitless.

I closed my eyes. My chin rested on my knees. I thought of January, sixty prospective racers on the track, every single one of them a better choice than me. Not because of the bike or the skill or the name. Just in the fact that they were real. Just in the fact they could stay.

The cold kissed my eyelashees and froze them on the spot. I wanted to talk to Kane. But the last person Kane would ever talk to again would probably be me. All of Corvus, really. 

It was a terrifying, guilt-riddling thing, to be alone.

"Yun?"

I opened my eyes. I glanced to my right.

Edwards stood a ways away in the pit. She had a racing jacket on, the leather thick but old and creased with wear, her surname printed in bold on the breast, with CORVUS right above. Years of history in that jacket. Years I'd never live to make more of.

I pushed my hand into my heart.

She made her way towards me. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Team is usually busy doing pre-celebration at this time. Cocky bastards." She stopped a yard or so away, frowning. "You ditching?"

I shook my head. "No, no, I'm just..." I shrugged. "Wanted to see it before the match."

Coach cocked her head. "It's plenty ugly," she scoffed. "Red and purple aren't the first color combo I'd go with."

"I like it," I murmured. "It fits you all."

"Oh? Garish?"

"Winners."

Coach raised a brow. I didn't explain. She let me entertain that silence for another five seconds before she brushed herself off and sat down beside me upon the cold concrete.

"You did something," she sighed. 

I waved that away. "What else is new?"

"What I was gonna say," she replied. "So what'd you do?"

I considered that. I said, "I...tried to be someone I'm not."

Edwards scoffed. "Oh? Who's that?"

Anyone, really. I turned to her. "Coach," I said. "What happens when you want something for your whole life, but in trying to get it, you find something else you want, and now you've gotta choose?" She blinked. "How do you know what's worth it, and what's not?"

Coach seemed a bit dumbfounded by the suddenly-solemn question, her eyes darting about my face in curiosity. After a few moments of sitting in the blue shadows, the weight of the words between us, she let out a heavy breath.