Welcome To The Jungle [Uprising Survival Training]

Purenessa Krow

It's all gonna fall eventually.
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It started a rumor, just like anything else. Whispers on the streets, fearful glances at Peacekeepers, and raised eyebrows. And yet, it spread through the district like a plague (only in the darkest, dampest alleyways, though, for anyone besides the nastiest citizens District One had to offer would have told the Keepers in a heartbeat). I, of course, was one of the first to hear about it. In their world, there are secrets, but in mine, there are not. I have always known because people are too afraid to let it be any other way- I am one of the mighty queens of the lower District One citizens. Known and feared, with my very name able to make eyes dart around nervously and hearts flutter. On my enemies' lips, I am an untrustworthy rat. On the lips of all others, I am the warrior girl who gets what she wants because there will be trouble otherwise. I don't need to ask questions; answers pour out of whatever pitiful person catches my raven gaze.

And so a new chapter in my ink stained story begins. All the other pages are stained crimson with horrors and black with rumors, and so I cannot help but wonder what new words will be scrawled (and then erased) into my tale that someone has yet to read. To an outsider, there are far too many blanks in me- empty pages rest where vital information should be. But no, they can know me as a monster but never the ingredients used to create the horrible darkness that purrs pleasure in my chest, whispering secrets and lies to the soft thump, thump, thump of my icy heart. I have never been one to share hardships, but rather spread them. It is so much easier to destroy, and so my failed attempts at creation remain hidden within the darkest and most arcane parts of my mind, where no one (save one boy with vivid green eyes and a cold smile) dares to venture. I am a secret which makes me all the more threatening, for those who do not have known heartbreak do not have known weakness.

I catch my navy blue blindfold easily, never taking glaring black eyes off of Griffin. I have never liked nor trusted the things they call leaders, and the person in front of me is no exception. I do not take orders and never have, and my hand grips the blindfold (which reeks of something I cannot place) tightly in one fist to demonstrate this fact. My eyes dart over to the others, who have already begun to tie their blindfolds around their head. I quietly remind myself why I am here, repeating reasons over and over again in my head. I may be only eighteen, but I do not like being treated like a child- I have been making my own choices for such a long time that my chest burns at the idea of having to obey others. With a great amount of reluctance, I tie the blindfold on, following the noises he makes in complete silence. I have always been graceful, and losing my sight gives me no disadvantages- I do most of my work at night, anyway. The bushes claw at my legs with sharp fingers, insisting that I stay behind retreat leave and I have no reason not to listen to their nonexistent cries except for one which I cradle close to a heart that does nothing to kindle my reasons.

When at last we have stopped, I whip off my blindfold and throw it to the ground in disgust, wrinkling my nose at it and then glancing around at the others. Victoria, as she calls herself, looks as if she comes from a very rich and proper family. I narrow my eyes slightly at her (it is obvious in my greasy, tangled locks and scarred skin that I have to work just to survive), and then turn toward the bad. There isn't even a moment's hesitation- I stride right over it and dig in, pulling out matches, some water jugs, a knife (it is hard for me to force my fingers to release), a machete, and two sleeping bags. I kick the sleeping bags toward the others impassively- I have spent a good amount of my nights sleeping on hard, cold, unforgiving cave floors. Luxuries such as sleeping bags are unnecessary for my survival, so it is best that I give them to the spoiled ones instead.

My eyes once again land on the knife, but I keep my face as impassive as possible as I study it. Good for hunting and cutting things to make a shelter- by far, the most desirable thing in the bag. I look back up at my group, gesture to the knife, and then to myself, eyebrows raised in a silent question (I don't need their permission, have never needed it, and never will, but if we are to be spending the night together, I do not wish to upset any of them too soon). May I have it?