Countermeasures [Sarella]

"Fraidy-cat, fraidy-cat, where are at, you fraidy-cat," Isabelline murmurs, willing herself to keep walking though she was timid at entering the part of District 3. It was on the way home, so there was no avoiding it. She might have found an alternate path had she not been scared it would be worse than this one. All she was carrying was a math book, geometry work stuffed between one of the pages though she had not been in a rush to get out of school. She had to make it seem like that, though, to avoid people mentioning it.

She turns a corner, and sees someone leaning against a wall. Immediately she was suspicious. Most people in this part stayed inside. Her heart rate picks up, and she stops singing her quiet song to hold her breath. Clutching her book as she walks by, she prepares to throw it if he moves. Okay, fi he moved toward her. Moving was something every did. Unless they were dead.

Just as she passes him a rat comes scurrying out of a hole, running past her legs. At that moment she jumps into the air, slamming her book downwards to the man's toe, shrieking and wetting her pants. When her feet hit the ground a moment later she begins shaking, looking around like a madman and whimpering. Okay, she was official in a panic attack. What was it Anna told her to do? Count? Too late though... this one was big.

[blockquoteMy mouth drops open slightly, and I stare at him like he had pulled out his eyes. My mouth moves, but no words come out as I stumble over what to say. I look down at my textbook, then back at him. I can’t find the rat anymore. I bend down and pick up the book, the wet corner not bothering me at all. My teacher would wonder about the crinkled page, but this would not be the first time my school had suffered from my bladder.

“I- I’m… sorry..I..did- Didn’t mean to… do….th- that,” I push out, looking at the ground. The rat comes around again, but this time I am not surprised and manage to keep myself together. I peek up at the person, worrying over what he might do. Finally, I take a deep breath and begin to turn to go. As I’m turning though, I feel my foot land on something, and as I turn, it feels squishier but stiff. I turn and look to see what I’d stepped on, but in the process I go forward, slamming the book into his stomach and pushing my body onto his.

((Okay… this was short x.x))

“No, look, I did that on accident,” Izzy tries to explain, dropping her book again and waving her hands around to express herself. Her posture quickly crumbles as she takes in the look on the man’s face. Irritation, aggressiveness, somewhat perceptive. If a her face could lose any more color, it did, and may have taken some from her hands as well. Something inside her jabs her stomach. Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was nervousness, or perhaps it was that fight or flight thing telling her to take flight. Or maybe she had a sixth sense, which she liked to think she did. My name is Irina, and I can talk to dead people. Sometimes I see them, too, but then they don’t like me when I do so I pretend I don’t.

“I… I have this thing… it’s a… well a… the dead people… eh… well it’s kind of… there was a rat… going home…” Izzy makes little jumbles of words, trying to get a single idea across but putting out several incomplete thoughts in the open wind. As she speaks her voice gets quieter and quieter, and her posture gets worse and worse. She looks around. There was a man, maybe a little less than a dozen meters away, but he was busy looking through cards and wouldn’t notice. If she did call out, he might not worry too much. My name is Izzy, and this is what I get for taking the short way home. Sometimes I doubt the path, but I always come here, too bad I messed up this time.

A long time ago, one her first day of school, Izzy panicked on the playground and wet her pants. It was from that point she stayed indoors. The only time she went outside was to travel between buildings, which she tried to do as little as possible. Other than that, her life was peaceful. Her mother was simple minded, but her sister's took care of her. Her father was unemployed, but he loved them nonetheless. Her brother was one of the most clever people in the District.

She did not, under any circumstances, expect what would happen in the next few seconds. The man's face grew irritated, then angry, then fuming. She stares, feeling the cold blood running into her heart. A gust of wind pushes a few papers away. The man down the street goes inside. A loud oof escapes her lips as she bends over, holding her stomach tightly and surprised at the strength of the hit she had just received. It felt like her stomach had been knocked to the back of her body and flipped upside down. Humiliating, just as well.

He reaches for Izzy's hair, and she yelps quietly, hands flying up to her roots and scratching his hand. "Let... go..." she mumbles, trying to sound bigger but only appearing smaller.

Izzy wiggles and turns, trying to swing back, but missing, for the most part. It was possible she got her skirt wet once or twice, but at the moment that was near the bottom of her concerns list. When he stops, she stands back, but upright, staring him down just the same. It was like her was daring her – waiting for her to do something. He tells her to, but she is thoughtful for a few moments. He looked like he would pounce if she blinked an eye. Contemplating her options for a moment, she chooses.

“I don’t fancy myself beaten, thank you,” she says, a lot more confidently than she had thought it would sound. She surprises herself, forgetting what she was going to do, but only for a quarter of a second. Then she is spinning on her heels, turning towards the direction of her house and beginning to run. Perhaps in spite, or mere fate, she slips in her puddle and lands face-first on the edge of it. Her nose crinkles.

“This, is why no one tries to mug me,” he says. Izzy gasps, holding her hands up to her face to stop whatever he would do, but it comes lower, onto her stomach. An ’oof’ and a cry. Her body jerks upwards, clutching her stomach, then she falls back down, slamming her head on the ground. The familiar squeak escapes her mouth after a few seconds, and she squints her eyes at him. What was his problem? He was some sort of lunatic, without a doubt, and Izzy had to get out of there quickly before he tried to hurt her again. Adrenalin, don’t we all love it?

“I was NOT trying to mug you!” she yells, rolling onto her side and coughing. It’s dry coughing, but she was very nauseated and wanted to vomit all the ache away. She knew she needed to get up, and get away quickly, but she could not bring herself to get up and actually do the actions. Izzy was too busy trying to make her stomach flip back up again, as it felt like it was sagging down in the most uncomfortable.