* show me how to lie -- semper

It takes a moment or two to recognize the bare cell of a room I wake in. Even my new ultra-sharp mind has trouble finding its way around a slow leaving foggy blanket of drowsiness. Persistent groaning in my throbbing muscles has me laying back against a mound of pillows, fingers rising to massage my thudding temples. Please don't come for me yet, please no, please, please, ple- A faint tickle on the back of my neck and I'm on the floor, crouched and reaching for the switchblade I taped to the bottom of my nightstand the night prior. Retrieving the small blade and hastily flicking it open, my eyes dart around the room, carefully picking out every frivolous detail, searching for the cause of my abrupt reaction. "Ms. Len! It's time for practice! Get your ass out here before I break down this damn door!"

Already sore, my limbs all but scream at me for forcing them down into this position for so long. Trembling once, twice, three times, my knees buckle and I'm down, gasping for the oxygen I had deprived myself of during my anxiety attack. Reluctantly, I stash my switchblade under the furniture, having to press the tape down firmly for it to hold a second time. "Ms. Len! I will give you until the count of three! One!" He pounds on the door again, the flimsy piece of wood vibrating under his strength. "Two!" I consider opening the door and following him like an obedient puppy, but decide against it. The moment I set foot in District One, he's had me mistreated and abused every change he's gotten. I won't stand for it any longer. "Three!" The door buckles, and splinters down the middle, a booted foot swinging through like a pendulum. Shoving the wooden remnants aside, my instructor barges in, nose flared and eyes gleaming. His hands are clenched into monster-sized fists, and he looks about ready to kill. Almost immediately he spots me, proving just how bad I am at picking hiding spots. The fear that's supposed to trigger inside of him at the sight of my face only seems to anger him more, and he comes barreling over the bed, arms flailing wildly. For a combat instructor, you're pretty stupid.

His fist pounds the side of my head, even as I jump to the side. Thrown off balance, my back thumps into the wall, and I'm ricocheted toward the window. "Oh shit!" Flinging my arms in front of my face, my momentum carries me through the glass, and a brittle wind laps at my face, growing stronger when I trip, hurtling three stories into the alley below. Oh dear god I'm going to die. I'm going to hit the ground and die. Forcing my lids open, I catch a glimpse of the ever approaching asphalt, and frightfully close them again. As much as I will myself to pass out, to just fall asleep or something to lessen the inevitable pain, the agony is very real when I collide with the earth. Laying there, broken and most likely bleeding, I cannot voice a single plea for help. Please let someone come along down here. Please let someone find me.



[ooc; this is kind of... horrible. and sorry for the wait. >.<]