The Unlucky Thirteenth (Akise Aru Fanfiction)

First

Future Diary (Mirai Nikki)

The Unlucky Thirteenth

First--A Waking Dream

Summary: Minene's protégé tries to brush up on her skills, not knowing she'll need them later in a certain time-telling game.

She wasn't alone, exactly. She had one person, and that was always enough for her. She prided herself on never needing others. She took solace in keeping a record of everything around her, including herself and the people she met. Even random strangers found their way into what some would call a diary. To her it was merely a hobby to help her try and keep her sanity--not that that was working.

She was never a good girl. She always got into trouble, but not too much. There was one thing the girl learned as her parents died--there was no slaughter without laughter. She expected it to be different, but she was wrong--proved in the worst way possible. She'd never belonged, but hey. Not like she cared. Yup.

Not like she cared at all.

She didn't need others. She could rely on one person to get her sorry ass out of a scrape, but that was about it. That woman was the only person who the girl associated with when she didn't have to. That probably should have spoken volumes about her introverted lifestyle.

She wasn't shy, exactly. More like she didn't need other people to keep her going. As long as her family was safe, she was fine. The blonde had to do this, do this for her remaining family to help with what needed doing.

As her knife found a home inside one of the dummies that her mentor had outside of her home, she yelled a raging shout of anger and hatred. It was then that the bullet was shot from the gun to signify that the teen needed to move on to the next round.

Her shoulder screamed in protest as she rolled into the ground to avoid another bullet that was shot. Her lithe frame darted over to the shooting arena, before picking up a shotgun and fitting the end firmly into her shoulder.

One praise the teen had gotten from her mentor was that she had one of the best forms the woman had seen in years. Of course, that was merely praise to herself. The woman had taught the girl, after all. She couldn't hit anything before she started out. The girl was complete and utter trash at fighting or committing acts of terrorism.

She fired several rounds into the dummies and targets, before hitting the dozen or so clay pigeons her mentor shot above her form. Perfect aim on every one. Perfect form, deadly accuracy. She was doing this for her parents with every shot and training step she took.

She did this for the only family she had left.

The girl let the pigeons fall to the floor, and hung the shotgun back up where it would rest for a while before she could come and take care of it later. Now for the final step--hand to hand combat.

She walked to the field determined to win today. She had never won against her mentor before, but she needed to desperately. Her mentor would never allow her to go on a mission if she didn't win first. The girl just wanted to help her family. She couldn't just sit back at the cabin and act like a weakling.

The woman's hair was left to dangle like it usually was. She was dressed in her usual style, athletic and inconspicuous. Her style was much like the girl's. A side of her the girl would never reveal to anyone but maybe her friend.

Without warning, the woman attacked. The teen dodged to her left, tucking into a ball. Her left foot planted itself in the dirt and she kicked out the woman's knees. However, she was prepared for that. The woman grabbed her foot and tapped it quickly to signal a hit.