400m Run

After her less than stellar showing at the gymnastics event, Jade had thrown herself into training for her races. Every waking moment was dedicated to stretching, jogging, and sprints. After each circuit of the courtyard, she'd check her time, pushing harder and digging deeper just to beat her own best. She refused to go home empty handed, especially after Jasper had taken gold in archery already. She'd never hear the end of it if she didn't step up and bring home something soon. The train ride back alone would be enough to make her want to jump into the ocean and dissolve into the beauty of District Four forever. No. Not that. Not giving up. This is mine.

By the time the race was set to begin, Jade had been at the track for over an hour, pacing the course, digging her toes into the dirt, running short sprints. Her shirt was already clinging to her back as she knelt at the starting line, sandwiched between two boys. One she'd jogged with a day early, the other she wasn't sure she'd seen before. Jade pushed all of the distractions to the back of her mind and narrowed her gaze at the finish line. Crouching down she waited for the signal to spring forward, her muscles coiled tightly, ready to explode in a burst of speed. Quietly, she counted down to the shot as a bead of sweat trickled across her forehead and down her nose.

[dice=2000+5000]

Faster than even she thought possible, Jade's body surged forward, quickly taking the lead. Her legs throbbed as they cycled through, pounding her feet into the dirt in a quick staccato rythym. Burning with each breath, she forced her lungs to take in the energy she needed to keep up her pace. She wasn't even sure where the other runners were. They could be steps behind her, waiting to overtake her. Waiting for me to screw up again. That thought drove her forward, faster and faster. It wasn't until she was well past the finish line that she allowed herself to finally slow to a stop.

Bending over, hands on her knees, Jade sucked in breath after breath. When a cheer erupted from the crowd, she looked up to see her time. A glimmer of shock shot across her face, but only for a second. Under a minute. The only one under a minute. Like magic, her cocky smile returned and she waved to the crowd. My moment. My glory. Her chest swelled with pride as she walked towards the podium. This was something no one could ever take from her.

Genesis Tailspun

My calves begin to tense up as they readied themselves in position, ever so ready to be commanded to move by the sound of that gun. Used to be, they would freeze up every single time from the very noise, but now as I've trained them over the years, they would learn to subject to whim of its commands, controlling it. Anticipation compiled with my breathing. Just keeping it steady was thrilling enough. Was I excited about the race? No, I wasn't. Did I want to beat the living hell out of everyone with these legs of mine? Check mark, please! A full lap across the whole track? Another hardship! This was like chunks of the 100 meter dash and the 1400 meter run ripped off, then mixed together for cake batting, which in reality, it was, minus all that talk for cake. Just one look told me my forte for my finely, curved, athletic legs was up for this. They damn sure were.

Once I see that gun raised up, my body will begin to raise itself up as well in coordination. I draw up pictures in my head before the actual event even takes place. I imagine a camera crew by the sidelines just waiting to take my words for the camera itself, and a number of peacekeepers, forming a chain link of bodies, struggling to hold the reporters and their fellow cameramen back. One of these reporters manages to jump over them. I can feel the camera already trained up on me as he madly approaches me for the sake of coverage. I feel that microphone perked up close to my lips for all audible sound to be received. I can almost hear that voice speak with a passion. "Any last thoughts for your fellow competitors, Miss. Tailspun, before you head out?" He would say. "Break a leg out there, people..." I murmur in response to no one and everyone. Just as I give out my answer I can see blood spluttered on my face as a peacekeeper executes the man on the spot with a trained finger on the trigger for just doing his job (illegally,) then he goes back like to containing the crowd like nothing happened. I wipe off the imaginary blood off my face, then pretend that the sweat I feel coming off from my face is a natural red. I look over to the reporter who only I can see dead on the ground. His blood already soaks his blue coat, as he begins to decompose into the red floor beneath me. Such professionalism... I add silently.

[dice=2000+5000]