Open Water (Kire)

The beach. Brant Anders, the boy who hated water, was at the beach. It wasn't even as if it was that nice of a day, what with the high overcast of clouds causing the water to look blue-gray and causing what little sunlight that shone through to create a horrible glare. Why was he here anyways, was it perhaps the fact that he didn't want his friends to suspect that he was afr- that he hated water? Or was it because he was merely looking for a change in scenery. Whatever it was, he was here and he already hated it. Walking forward, making sure to stay a ways away from the water, he made his way to an open spot and began stretching. He had done these stretches so many times by now that they just came naturally, and thus he had time to think as he performed them.

For all he hated the water, he had to admit that the sound of the waves lapping at the shore was almost comforting and the lack of other humans made the area tranquil. Tranquility was always nice, especially when you really didn't feel like talking, or asking questions. As he finished the last stretch, feeling the warm burn through his hamstring, Brant looked around for something to train with. It was no good trying to train if there was nothing to use while doing it. Hand-to-hand only worked if there was someone else around, which there was not. Ah, there, a piece of driftwood. It was roughly the size of a single-handed sword and would provide more resistance than one because of it's rounded shape.

Now came his sword practice. He fell into his balanced stance, feet spread shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, head up. His eyes gazed out over the endless gray-blue that was the ocean before him. Without shifting his gaze, he swung the mock-sword gracefully up, a slight waver caused by the force of the air over the uneven surface of the wood. His body moved almost without him telling it to, following the drill pattern driven into his mind, into his very muscles. Right slash, left slash, thrust, step back, thrust, step forward, downward slash... Again, though his body was occupied with the movements, his mind was free to wander. As he gazed at the ocean, furious and yet gentle, he thought that he might be being unreasonable in his apprehension towards water. Then again, there was a reason he couldn't bear it, maybe he should listen to his reasoning and stay away. This is as close as I'm getting. I'm not built for the water, no matter what anyone says.

Perhaps this had something to do with the mystery of his past. Whatever life he had been born into, swimming was not a part of it. But at the age of seven he had been tossed into a place where swimming was the next step after walking. No kid in District four didn't know how to swim. Except for him. He was the only one who couldn't swim like a fish, who couldn't swim at all really. Whoever's idea this was to put him here, well, he hated them for it. Of all the places he could have gone he had to be stuck in a place where he would never fit in. Ever. Why hadn't it have been District one, or two, or ten even. Why did it have to be District four. Why send the boy who hates water to District four.

With a final, vicious, downward strike, Brant ended the training drill. He had sweat, only a bit though, being used to the strains of training. He had been doing it for almost as long as he had lived in District four, plenty of time to get used to the routine. What did it matter if he couldn't survive in the water, he was perfectly able to spear his opponents on the end of his sword. Now that that portion of his daily training was over, he tossed the stick down the length of the beach. No point wasting a good practice tool by throwing it into the water, but the release of anger-filled energy was refreshing. After watching it fly, then fall with a dull thud into the sand, he turned and strode down the beach, in the opposite direction of which he threw the driftwood.

Not far from where he had been, a form lay in the sand. Curious, he went over to see what, or who, it was. Now that he was closer, he could see it was a girl, about his age with highlighted red hair. She lay on her back, eyes closed. He didn't know whether to check if she was alright, or to just leave. She didn't look to be hurt, and she had a grin of sorts on her face, as if she was dreaming about something wonderful. Perhaps he should just leave, intruding wasn't his kinda thing. But as he turned to leave, and took a couple steps away, his foot caught in the sand and he fell with a heavy thump into the sand, cursing. Well, so much for that idea.

So much for starting to like the beach. He certainly didn't like the sand, it tasted horrible and gritty. Brant rolled over, spitting sand from his mouth. That was when he noticed that the girl, who had just been sleeping, was now standing over him. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at her. Aside from nearly standing on him, she was also holding a piece of driftwood, as if she was ready to strike him with it. He blinked up at her a couple of times, turning his head to spit yet more sand out of his mouth. He turned back to the girl, who looked incredibly tall from this angle. She seemed taller than most of the other girls he had seen, and he could now see that she must have been training before taking a nap. Her hair, where there wasn't sand stuck to it, was damp from sweat and there was a faint rosy colour in her cheeks.

"Spying on me, eh?" Her voice was sharp, as if she was accusing him of stealing a personal belonging, or doing a slightly more heinous crime than checking to see if she was still alive. Of course, she probably didn't see it that way. To her, it probably did seem like he was spying. She tossed her piece of driftwood away, which was a relief, for a moment he had honestly thought he would have to dodge a swing to the head, and crossed her arms. "I heard you didn't like the water." That was old news by now, most everybody had heard he didn't like water, even if some people didn't believe it. It seemed that if he ever met someone he hadn't spoken to before then they would have to remind him that everyone knew he didn't belong. He couldn't even count the amount of times people had said almost that exact sentence to him.

As ever, he would reply the same way. "What does it matter to you what I like." Perhaps it was time he started to take somewhat more drastic measures towards getting people to realize that he knows he does like water. He really didn't need people to remind him about it, honestly. "And I wasn't spying. For all I knew, you were dead. So leave me be." She was looking down at him, tilting her head to the side as though she felt empowered, standing over him as she was. Perhaps it was time to remind her that he was taller. He rolled over and pushed himself up, using one smooth movement to propel himself to his full height. At a little over six feet he stood about half-a-foot taller than the girl. Good, now she would remember what it was like being short, well, shorter.

Obviously this girl was a career, her form giving away her many hours of training. More often than not, an eligible child from Districts one, two and four will attempt to be a career but not succeed due to the excessive training required to be one. She must have a strong will, to have trained as much as she did. He could see her training had flattened her stomach and kept her very fit. She also looked to be a little older than he was, maybe two years at the most, even if she was a head shorter than himself. He looked at her, trying to seem intimidating, and yet not threatening. If she thought she could scare him, she had another thing coming. He had trained as a career too, even if he had always skipped the swimming portions of the training. I may not like water, but it doesn't mean I am not just as strong as the rest of them. Pick your fights wisely.

It seemed he had put her on edge, or at least annoyed her, with his reply. Her voice was a little bitter as she responded, and there was a threatening undertone to it. "How can you not like water and live here. That's the dumbest thing I've heard. You're lucky someone hasn't just tossed you in." She tapped her foot and looked at him, as if trying to tell him he was a waste of her time. Brant's gaze grew harsher, and he tensed at her words, hot anger settling into his blood. How dare she say that, how dare she touch upon the deeps thoughts that always lingered in his mind. Did she think he had chosen to live here? He had been forced by whichever person had decided to place him in this water-logged district.

And he was going to tell her as much. His voice was a deadly whisper as he said, "Do you think I wanted to be here? I didn't choose to live in this sodden piece of land you call a District. I was put here by someone who knew nothing about me, knew nothing about anything. And you have the gall to say it's my fault?" His voice had risen in the time he had been speaking, to the point where he was almost yelling at her now. "Do you think people haven't tried to push me in, to tell me I don't belong. Do you think I care anymore?" He growled deep in his throat, a rough and guttural sound like a wild animal, displaying the burning rage that he had acquired through his time here. People never left him alone about it. Why did they care, why did they bother bugging him about it, "Why can't you just leave me alone."

He turned, glaring at the sand now, his quick fury beginning to mix with his old fears to create a feeling of longing. Why couldn't he just belong, instead of always being the odd one out. Did no one ever realize that he was who he was and telling him that he was different wouldn't change anything, except to make it worse. At the rate it was going, he might be better off in the Detention Center than staying around here. At least there they treat you like the person you are, not like you were inferior or incompetent. It's always me. Why does it have to always be me?

He started to walk away, unable to withstand the angst in his heart. He would not cry, or whine, or stamp. He was no longer the little boy of seven he was when he first arrived here. He had grown toughened to the scorn of others, or so he had thought. His outburst had shown him he was not as bulletproof as he had originally thought. Maybe I should leave, they don't want me here and I don't belong. There's no reason to stay. Another small growl escaped him, like a tiny release of pressure. No, he didn't belong here. Of all the Districts, I was stuck in the one where I would never fit in. It's always me. Always me.

A stick flew by his head, just missing his ear. He realized the girl had thrown her piece of driftwood at him. Luckily, it seemed she didn't have the best aim. And now she was shouting at him, "Grow up! You're not a child anymore, you've been her long enough to know the way of life here. You're not going to get special treatment just because" her tone was mocking now, her impression of his voice he guessed, "someone left me here blah blah blah." Brant had to take a moment to keep himself from grinning. She was yelling at him about how immature he was being. The irony of it was priceless, even if he had to admit that she had some spunk going after him after he had put on that kind of show. Perhaps this girl wasn't just a waste of his time, then again she may just be a bigger waste of his time.

He turned, slowly, doing his best to keep the grin off of his face. Looking at her with what he hoped was contempt, and not amusement, he took long strides back to where she stood. Once again, he stood taller than her, looking down at her. "Oh I'm the child, that's rich." His voice was light and playful, though there was underlying scorn there too. "This is coming from the girl who had a temper tantrum because I spoke my mind. If you're so mature, advise me on what I did wrong." The grin had slid onto his face again, but this time there was something a little sinister about it, as if he was daring her to say something. "Or perhaps we could find another way to settle this." He lent down a little, partially to intimidate, and partially to see her reaction. Toying with this girl could prove to be fun.

Straightening, he went over to the driftwood and picked it up, twirling it in his hand casually. He put no more thought into the action than if he was simply standing there, looking at the ocean. Then he turned, casting pale green eyes on the girl. He watched her, but only like he was just there, not as if he was analyzing every detail. But he was analyzing her, taking in her actions and reactions in order to see what kind of person she was. Albeit, he wasn't as good at it as others were, but he wasn't half-bad. A thought came to him, making him smile lopsidedly. I wonder what she would do if she thought I could read her mind. I can make it seem like I can. Oh, this will be fun.

She stands still a moment, then comes charging at him like an angry bull. Once again, he was the immature one? He tried to avoid her tackle, but she grabbed him around the waist and rammed him into the sand. She turned his head to the side and pressed it into the sand, growling like some wild animal. Then she started spewing venom at him, "It matters because I wasted my life so people like you could do nothing! You should take pride in your district, not act ungrateful!" Perhaps he should have been more wary, but how could he have known she was crazy? And why did she think he was ungrateful? He had had the opportunity to train as a Career and had relished in it. Just because he hated water didn't mean he was ungrateful. Sure, he didn't like how people always made fun of him for it. And pride in his District? For all he knew, he was born as the son of a wanderer and had been given to District four because he was a burden. Not to mention that, how could he show pride for a district he didn't belong in?

Okay, this was enough. It was time for her to let him up, she was being ridiculous and he didn't feel like suffocating on rock granules. He struggled against her hold, trying to throw her off, or at least get her to release his head. But no luck, she pinned him down, driving his head further into the sand. Maybe if he gave one last heave. He gathered his strength and attempted to shake her off once more. This time she had shifted, maybe now he could get the upper hand. He got ready for another heavy shake, but just as he was about to attempt to shove her off again he froze. The girl above him was screaming, not in fear but in either victory or anger, he couldn't tell which. She's a bloody animal. If I'm not careful, she may just kill me.

And so he gathered himself again and threw himself sideways, the girl falling off of him. For a moment, he thought he could get up, but he realized she still gripped his shirt, and his right arm. Growling as well now, Brant began to fight back, resulting in the two of them rolling and tumbling through the sand for a while. She was tough, though it may just be her lack of control now that gave her strength. It took him a bit, but he eventually pinned her down. He was panting and sweating now, but the fight had exhilarated him. He looked down at her, his left hand holding down her right shoulder and his right forearm pressed against her throat. He gave her a lopsided smile, still panting heavily with his hair now sandy and plastered to his forehead. "How was that for a fight, wildcat?" He couldn't just call her girl, and from the way she fought the nickname had come to his mind. He actually kinda liked it, it wasn't too bad if he did say so himself. He lent down to speak softly into her ear. "And I was never ungrateful of District four."

It seemed that their little scrap had dispelled her frustration, though she fought him as he still pinned her. She stopped as she heard what he had said, looking at him inquisitively. "What did you call me?" His smile turned into more of a grin and he saw that she began to smile too. He relaxed the pressure on her throat and she coughed. Perhaps he had pressed a bit hard, but she had fought him so much it was necessary. He continued to grin at her, still pinning her down. "You're stronger than I expected. Most people wouldn't fight back..." She tried again to get free, but he kept her there. He could see why people didn't often fight back, she could be vicious. "Can you get off. I'm not going to go at you again. You're just...ugh just get off!"

He loosened his grip on her and she struggled out from under him. He tried not to laugh, he could have held her there for a while longer, but he knew he would have paid for it if he had. For all she had said she wouldn't attack him again, he was still ready for it, as he always was. Or at least, how he usually always was. He flipped over and sat up, leaning back on his hands as he looked at her. She was sitting now, too, looking at him. She was still breathing heavy, but she managed to say, "What do you mean you didn't pick here?" So now she was curious about him, rather than enraged by him. He supposed it was an improvement.

"I called you Wildcat." She looked a little confused when he said it, so he explained, "You asked what I called you. I called you Wildcat." His lopsided smile was back, bemused as he was by her. "And as for what I meant by I didn't pick to live here." He turned his head to gaze at the ocean, then looked at her sidelong. "I haven't lived in District four all of my life. I don't even remember anything before it, but I do remember that I came here when I was seven." He stopped himself there, knowing he would and could go on for a while about his past, or lack of past. Whatever the reason was that he was here, he was here. Griping about it wouldn't help him find his past.

He turned to face her head-on again, pale green eyes filled with his thoughts. He didn't expect to get an apology from her, if anything he had forgotten to expect one. He brought himself back to the present, feeling his eyes wander aimlessly as he began to lose focus of the world. How would this girl, for all her spirit, be able to understand what his life was like. Not that it mattered really, he had never been much of a people person, always shunned by the greater population. Something is different about her though, no one's swept me off my feet, whether literally or figuratively. Heh, Wildcat.

She seemed to be considering something, mulling it over. Then he heard her say something softly, "Wildcat..." Her voice was louder as she continued, "My name is Ran. Like the sea goddess. My parents thought...well they wanted something strong and noble...and I don't get what you mean you just showed up? Don't you have parents? Didn't they raise you?" Her face still showed some confusion and she watched his face. He had to look away for a moment, unsure as to why or what was making him. Looking back at her, he tried to figure out how to explain it to her. He may as well start with introducing himself fully now.

"I'm Brant. I heard somewhere that it meant sword in another language, but I don't know." He shrugged, watching her face as he spoke, trying to see if she would understand what he was going to say. "I wasn't born in District four, I was born somewhere else. The thing is, I don't have any memories from before I was seven." He paused to look away from her for a moment and gazed over the blue-gray, rippling, surface of the ocean. Still not looking at her, he continues, "The earliest thing I remember was when I was brought to District four. I was given to a couple and they raised me as their son, except I'm just a Career to them, someone they could say was there's if I won or someone they could disown if I didn't. I don't know my original parents." It was harder than he thought, talking about his past. He had always thought it would be easy for him to tell someone, but now he knew different.

Still, it was nice to finally tell someone what he had to deal with every day. Maybe she would now understand why he didn't belong, why he was rarely seen with anyone besides a couple of guys he had befriended. He was only known for his swordsmanship, and even that wasn't a great accomplishment in this District, where swimming was the most prized. It's almost like I'm mister nobody. He thought, his inner voice holding a kind of sad amusement. Maybe it's time I try to change that.