For The First Time In Forever {gryphon}

Innovation is a display of genius, insanity, or both rolled up into one unexpectedly complimentary pair.

And I'm thinking I'm the latter--Cori would be incredibly unhappy to find out about this but maybe this way I don't have to go behind their backs anymore, I could do what I loved while satisfying Mom and Dad's wishes and not risk getting caught.

And in the case that my name was pulled out of the ladies' glass ball one year, this combination of my desires and their's could come in handy.

Though thankfully the odds of that happening in a district like this, without a Fray or Lumiere or Moreno raising their hand and taking my place, are toothpick-thin.

The point is that an idea such as this is a scale, and the positives of putting it to use far outweigh the negatives.

It came to me one weekend morning, when I set out on my usual routine of filling their heads with false imagery of what I was doing while they worked on their jewelry and their clothing--while Coriander was sentenced to house arrest upstairs.

I opened the door and when the bell chimed so did the thought as I took my first step outside.

Whirl and twirl and t u m b l e and throw your hands up as they release a knife from your grip into the air--

That was it. Light goes off and with brisk steps I did what my sister and I never saw me doing--find my way to the training center. I saved the leaps and the jumps and the s p i n s for when I got there and felt a cool breeze collide into my cheeks as I let myself in to a whole new world, where the cruel and the heartless and the bloodthirsty built their names from the ground up from and everything we needed to practice for that fateful day was laid all out on the table like chips and cards in a game of poker.

My eyes don't know where to look--I dart from tables to glittering, sharp-edged metal to beautiful faces contorting into yells and grunts and c r i e s with anger and intimidation and c o n f i d e n c e and I'm a meek, black sheep without the slightest notion where to start or how to convey the menacing pride they exude from within their healthy, hot spirits.

But then I remember how sometimes at nightfall I snuck Coriander out for some fresh air, to parties and gatherings and other social events where all kinds of people our age hung about--but these were hubs of booze and sex and c a r e f r e e and she is just not that kinda girl. I wasn't big on them either but I was no wallflower like she was, so she usually kept to the corners with a glass of punch in her hand as I made flirty conversation with others that neither of us would remember or think much of in the morning after.

I often found her outside with only her thoughts, waiting for me when I thought it time to go home.

I pitied her, but right now I thank her for her more shy nature because this is a repeat of those scenarios except now I'm thrusting myself into the habitat of murderers who lacked the compassion for people but the heart for killing them. Maybe her take on them is what I need.

A corner.

So when I look around the ginormous, open area I find myself lucky enough to spot one near the entrance and exit in one, a pile of knives and swords near it and a couple dummies in the other.

It is time to start a balance.

I pull the lifeless bodies--which might as well be real--away from their initial positions and drag them to the wall, turning them so they would face me when I put one foot after another in reverse. Then I turned my attention to the shining table of greyscale, scanning for something, anything that would make a good start for this practice, this mission of harmony between satisfaction for one and satisfaction for two others.

A belt of throwing knives,

The universe whispers in my ear the exact moment I double take on the set of objects.

Hand grabs them and sets them down on the floor before my feet, I pull two out, then stand back up straight with small blades in both grasps as I face the life-sized mannequins.

In out in out  i n  o u t

Deep breaths. Close my eyes, find my center that whisks me away to blissful concentration--

Set myself free.

I grow wings and I throw myself straight upwards, I fly, I feel the air whooshing underneath my arms and in the space surrounding my legs as I glide them on an adventure through the clouds before letting go of--

clunk

I do not see, I do not dare open my eyes because I have returned to my comfort zone, and I do not want to lose this moment.

I do not wish to see how far I am from success just yet until the number is finished. I must--

"What the FUCKING ruby are you doing?!?"

A huntsman shoots me and I shatter upon the floor back down to reality, eyes snap wide open and shoulder hits the wall. Stumble away from the barrier, regain my balance, regain my awareness--it is a boy with glasses eyeing me in astonishment. I blink, and so does he, and I do not initiate an exchange for some bits of time with slight embarrassment until I fully calm myself from my sudden descent onto this earth in mentality.

Stand back up straight, clear my throat, fold my arms with a sigh--

"Just...trying to shake things up," I answered in hesitance. That was not the real reason why I did what I had just done, but it was no lie either. I inspect him as I say this to watch for any adjustments in the creases on his face right now, for dynamic exaggerated features to current emotions. "In my opinion, this is hella boring--don't you think?"

It may be immoral to some, it may be pleasurable for others, but I cannot bring myself to take either side when it is apparent that things have always been like this.

So such feelings are a waste.