Author Games: Ascend

Task Four: Female Entries

District 1 Female - AMARE CHASE

Every muscle in my body ached, pulling against the bone as though
desperate to separate itself from my body, remove itself from the
pain. Bruises began to blossom on my skin, inky purple spots that
almost blended in with the rest of my dark skin.

The lighter skinned kids at Training got more colorful bruises:
yellow, blue and green. Mine were more subtle, under the harsh
fluorescent lighting in the Training Center, you could hardly notice
them. Sometimes they joked that Serian and I couldn't bruise, our
bodies were already bruised all over.

I pressed my fingers against one of my bigger bruises, about the size
of a roll of bread on my right arm, and winced at the sudden, tender
pain. Hot tears sprung into my eyes, but I choked them back. I liked
to play into their games sometimes, and pretend I really couldn't get
bruises, that I was invulnerable to the things that hurt them.
Sometimes, I even tried to convince myself.

The door swung open, and the tall, strong figure of my father appeared
in the doorway. His overalls were covered in dust and dirt, the way
they always were after a long day in the mines, his shoulders slouched
with exhaustion.

"Daddy!" It took me a second to stand up and hug him, my legs were too
sore from sparring today. He didn't seem to notice, he wore the same
vacant expression as always, like his spirit left his body while he
was at work and still hadn't quite returned.

I tried not to wince as he wrapped his arms around me, pressing at the
fresh bruises scattered across my skin. The gentle heaving of his
chest, his calloused fingers brushing through my hair, reassured me.

"How was Training?"

"Hard," I whispered into his ear. The tears I fought to hold back
earlier rushed back, and I had to pinch myself to keep from crying.

"We had to spar again, and the Trainer made me fight all the other
girls. It hurts a lot, Daddy."

He pulled away from me. I couldn't feel his gentle breathing anymore, or his face against mine. His hands had moved from behind my head to my shoulders, his tight grip pressing right into one of my bruises. Light had returned to his eyes, but it was a fire, an unfamiliar intensity. My bottom lip began to quiver.

"Do you think I don't hurt a lot too?" Daddy's voice was quiet, but it
held the same intensity as his eyes. "I work like a dog every day to
support you, to put you through Training, and you choose to repay me
by complaining?"

"Daddy, I wasn't complaining," I protested. "It hurts but..."

"But what?" he interrupted. "You still have six more years until you
can volunteer! If you're going to cry about a few bruises now, how do
you expect to ever win the Reaping Tournament?"

"I'm not crying!" I could hardly see Daddy through the tears that
filled my eyes, but I refused to let them spill over. I dug my nails
into my hands, clenched my jaw together, anything not to cry.

"Do you know what happens if you don't get to volunteer?" His voice
had risen to a shout, completely disregarding my protests. "All the
money I spent on you will have gone to waste, and I'll have to work in
those mines until the day I die just to make a living. Do you want me
to die down there?"

"No, Daddy." My head was lowered in shame. One tear had gotten past my
defenses and left a streak down my face. I couldn't bear to look up,
to see the disappointment and anger in Daddy's face because I was
crying. Because I was weak.

He reached out, his rough hand lifting my head until my gaze met his.
The fire was still burning in his eyes, but duller, dampened by the

reflection of my tears. "Then win."